The Golden Farce
The left hand of Elias Thorne trembled against the cold iron of the cell door, a shudder that started in the marrow and worked its way out to the fingertips. It was a small thing, barely noticeable unless one was looking for it, but in the damp gloom of Blackgate’s industrial wing, where the new steam engines roared their low, bone-deep song, it was the only thing that mattered. Elias was...
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