The Golden Myth
You’re not the only one who thinks the boy was innocent. Elias Thorne stood in the rain, the water running off the brim of his hat in a steady, cold curtain that blurred the world into a smear of grey stone and wet cobblestone. In his left hand, he gripped a rusted iron key, its teeth worn smooth by decades of use, the metal biting into his palm until the pain sharpened his focus. He was...
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