The Golden Cellar
The brass key is heavy in your pocket, a cold weight against your thigh as you stumble into the cellar. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and old copper, the taste of blood rising in your throat. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a constable in Oakhaven, and your knuckles are split and swollen from the midnight scuffle. Silas’s men caught you counting the stolen coins, the wages of...
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