The Golden Oath
The old customs house stood at the edge of the jagged coast, a square tooth of granite set against the grey jaw of the sea. It was not a building that invited warmth. It was a place of stone and silence, of ledgers and dust, where the wind screamed through the gaps in the boarded windows like a thing with teeth. Elias Thorne held the key in his pocket, its metal cold against the sweat of his...
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