The Golden Quest
The ledger lay in Elias Thorne’s hands, cold and slick with the damp of the cellar. He held it tight, the leather cover cracking under his thumbs, the smell of mildew and old paper rising to meet him. For twenty years, Elias had walked the cobbled streets of Harrowgate, a constable whose badge was as dull as the iron gates of the town hall he guarded. Now, at forty-two, he wanted only one...
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