The Golden Crossing
The rain had turned the yard of Blackwood Manor into a slurry of mud and broken glass, a texture that stuck to the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots with a tenacity that felt personal. He stood before the main gate, his hand resting on the iron latch, feeling the cold metal bite into his palm, slick with condensation and the dampness of the night. The ledger was in his satchel, a heavy thing...
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