The Golden Ritual
The bell above the door of the Ironworks did not ring so much as it coughed, a dry, metallic rattle that signaled the arrival of the day’s only customer. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the showroom, a space that smelled of old oil and wet wool, and watched the man enter. The customer was tall, wearing a coat of charcoal wool that hung loose on his frame, and he moved with the careful,...
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