The Golden Crossing
The iron key weighed two pounds, four ounces, and one lie. Elias Thorne held it in his left hand, the metal cold against his palm, while the rain drummed a steady, hollow rhythm against the slate roof of the keep. He counted the drops in his mind, a habit from his years on the border patrol, where silence was a threat and noise was a warning. The key was not a magical talisman. It was a heavy,...
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