The Golden Visit
The rain fell on the roof of the inn like a thousand small fingers tapping a secret code. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp wool and cold tallow. Edward Ashworth stood by the hearth, his back to the fire, watching the shadows dance on the stone walls. He was a man of few words, a hunter of truths in a world that preferred comfortable lies. His coat was heavy, soaked through, and...
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