The Golden Circuit
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, slipped under the door of the barracks in a place that no longer appeared on any map, a place where the sky was the color of a bruise and the air tasted of copper and old rain. It was written on paper that felt like wet skin, the ink a viscous black that seemed to pull at the light. Sergeant Elias Thorne did not open it immediately. He sat on the edge of his...
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