The Golden Quest
The rain in Old London did not wash things clean; it only made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into a mirror for the gutter. Elias Thorne stood in the alley’s shadow, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, the stolen ledger clutched against his chest like a live coal. The book was heavy, bound in leather that smelled of rot and old iron, and every time his fingers brushed the...
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