The Golden Cellar
The ink was still wet on the ledger when Elias Thorne noticed the stain spreading across the parchment, a dark, viscous smear that looked less like wine and more like blood. He was forty-two, a captain with a steady hand and a reputation for cold arithmetic, and he had come to the cellar to prove he was fit for the post of Master of the Vault. The stone walls wept. It was a small, wet sound, a...
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