The Golden Cellar
"The map is wrong. It’s always wrong." You say this to the man standing at the edge of the frozen lake, his breath pluming in the grey air, his eyes hard and wet behind the rim of his glasses. He is not a soldier, not truly, though he wears the uniform of the Border Service with a rigidity that suggests he has forgotten how to be anything else. His name is Elias, and he has been following you...
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