The Golden Mirror
The cell door groaned open on hinges that had not been oiled in a decade, releasing a breath of damp stone and dried blood. Elias Thorne stepped inside, his boots clicking against the flagstones with a rhythm that felt too deliberate, too loud in the silence. He was thirty-two, young for an Inquisitor, and his hands, usually steady when handling confessions, trembled slightly as he reached into...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme