The Golden Cellar
The deed to the Golden Cellar lies in your palm, its paper brittle and yellowed, the ink faded to the color of dried blood, and you hold it as a soldier holds a rifle, with a grim, mechanical certainty that masks the hollow ache in your chest. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a sergeant in the municipal guard force, a man who has spent the last decade enforcing the rigid, iron-clad...
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