The Golden Cellar
The air in the city smelled of wet iron and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias’s throat as he stood before the gate. It was a Tuesday, unremarkable in every way save for the weight of the silence that pressed against the cobblestones. He adjusted the leather strap of the satchel on his shoulder, the leather cracked and stiff from years of handling cold, damp things. Behind...
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