The Golden Circuit
The mud had a taste. It was iron and rot, thick in Thorne’s mouth as he dragged the weight of General Vane into the cellar. The air down here was cold, a sharp bite against the fever in his shoulder. Thorne counted the steps. One. Two. Three. The door slammed shut above them, sealing out the noise of the skirmish, leaving only the sound of their own ragged breathing. Vane was heavy. He was a...
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