The Golden Song
Thorne. The name hung in the air of the drafty room, a sound that had no owner, though Elias Thorne heard it clearly enough to flinch, his shoulder hunching against the cold that seeped through the single pane of glass in the window. He was thirty-four years old, a sergeant in the Oakhaven constabulary, a title that meant little in a town where the coal ran out before the winter did, and he sat...
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