The Golden Visit
"You let the gold cool," Father said. His voice was not loud. It did not need to be. In the silence of the room, where the air hung thick with the scent of wet wool and old paper, it cut deeper than any shout. I looked at my hands. They were steady. I had trained them to be steady. I had spent twenty years learning how to hold a weapon without shaking, how to look a man in the eye while...
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