The Golden Myth
The silver badge was warm against my sternum, a persistent, low-grade burn that I had learned to ignore over the last decade, though it flared now with the specific heat of a lie. I was adjusting my tunic, pulling the fabric taut over the metal, when the knock came at the door of the constable’s barracks. It was not a polite knock; it was the heavy, rhythmic thud of a fist against oak, the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews