The Faded Attic
The locket burned against Elias’s palm. It was a small silver thing, tarnished by years of neglect, yet it radiated a heat that felt less like warmth and more like a fever. Outside, the London winter bit through the slates of the attic, rattling the loose panes of the dormer window, but the metal remained scalding, a persistent anomaly in the frozen air. Elias Thorne, Sergeant of the Royal...
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