The Golden Echoes
The iron gate of Blackwood Prison did not open so much as it exhaled, a heavy, rusted sigh that shook the cobblestones under Thomas Bradshaw’s boots. The air inside was thick, tasting of damp stone, mildew, and the metallic tang of old blood that had long since dried into the cracks. Thomas was not a man who spoke much. He had spent the last three years in a cell no larger than a wardrobe, his...
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