The Golden Oath
The body lay in the mud of the King’s Highway, clutching a golden wren so bright it seemed to burn against the grey November rain. Arthur Vane, Inspector of the Third District, knelt in the slush, his knees sinking into the cold earth as he examined the corpse. The man was dead, his face twisted in a rictus of terror, but his fingers were locked around the small, gilded bird. Vane had served...
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