The Golden Mirror
The champagne was cold, the meat was rich, and the laughter in the Grand Hall of Oakhaven was a physical weight pressing against Elias Thorne’s chest, a suffocating blanket of silk and grease that smelled of expensive perfume and rot. He stood by the heavy oak table, his constable’s tunic stiff with sweat, watching Magistrate Halloway raise a glass to the memory of Sheriff Miller, a man who had...
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