The Golden Circuit
The mud in the ditch was cold and thick, sucking at your boots as you scrambled for the page. You had slipped on the wet grass, your knee striking the earth hard enough to break skin, and now the blood from your wound was mixing with the rainwater on the parchment. You are Elias Thorne, a constable of thirty-two years, and you have spent three weeks hunting this single sheet of paper. It is the...
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