The Golden Farce
The invoice lay on the table, the ink still wet, the figure at the bottom circled in red. It was a debt that had grown teeth over three years, a sum that required not just labor but a miracle, and Elias Thorne knew he had no miracles left in his pocket, only a set of brass gears and a pair of hands that trembled at the slightest shift in the air. He sat in the corner of the inn in Oakhaven, a...
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