The Golden Farce
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones of the central square into a mirror for the steam-belching chimneys that had replaced the old church spire. Elias Thorne stood beneath the eaves of the magistrate’s office, his breath pluming in the cold air, his hand locked around the iron gauntlet he had worn for twenty years. It was a...
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