The Golden Circuit
The leather of the satchel had long since lost its sheen, turning a dull, matte brown that resembled dried earth more than the polished hide of a soldier’s kit. Inside, the documents lay flat, their edges frayed and soft, the ink faded by years of damp air and the constant, subtle friction of handling. Thomas stood before the heavy oak desk in the high-ceilinged office of the Magistrate, the...
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