The Golden Farce
The rain in Harrowgate did not fall so much as it hung, a gray, suspended veil that turned the cobblestones into mirrors of the bruised sky. Elias Thorne walked through it, his boots heavy with the mud of the city’s underbelly, while beside him, Julian Vane kept pace with the quiet, predatory grace of a man who had long since stopped caring whether his steps were heard. They were walking toward...
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