The Wistful Voyage
The rain lashed against the high, narrow windows of the Royal Mint, a rhythmic, industrial drumming that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards beneath Elias Thorne’s boots. He stood before the desk of Director Halloway, his spine rigid, his eyes fixed on the man who held the power to decide whether his father would die in a gutter or live out his final weeks in a room with a view. Halloway did...
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