The Golden Visit
The iron ring of the gate door was cold enough to burn. Elias Thorne wrapped his gloved hand around it, checking the latch for the third time that hour. He was thirty-two years old, and his knees ached with a dampness that no amount of dried herbs could pull out. The village of Oakhaven lay silent behind him, the windows dark, the streets empty save for the occasional scurrying of rats. He had...
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