The Golden Oath
The ink was already gone by the time he looked up. Elias Thorne stared at the service record, the paper white and blank where his signature had been for twenty years. The vault was cold, a damp chill that seeped through the soles of his shoes and settled in his knees, a physical weight that matched the hollow feeling in his chest. He was fifty-two years old, and in the subterranean archives of...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews