The Faded Guest
The count was wrong. Elias Thorne had counted the copper coins in the leather pouch three times, and each time the number came up short, a deficit of four pennies that seemed to grow heavier with every breath he took in the damp cellar. He was thirty years old, a constable of the City Watch, and he had spent the last six years paying a debt of blood that the Guild had recorded in ink on...
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