The Golden Downtown
"You’re late, Maren." The voice did not come from the air, but from the heavy oak table where a single plate of silverware sat, tarnished and dull in the dim light of the dining hall. Maren stood in the doorway, her boots caked with the mud of the lower city, her hands still trembling from the cold that had seeped through her wool coat. She looked at the empty chair opposite the one reserved...
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