The Golden Suspect
The leather satchel in Elias Thorne’s hands was wet, heavy with the snow that had packed itself into the seams of the canvas. He stood alone in the white void of the tundra, the year 1892 pressing down on his shoulders with the weight of iron. His lungs burned, a dry, rattling fire that threatened to consume him before the cold could. He wanted to reach the border by dawn, to deliver a...
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