The Golden Quest
The leather strap cut into Stepan Kozlov’s palm, a familiar, dull ache that grounded him while the crystal glasses clinked around him with the brittle precision of a metronome. He stood at the edge of the banquet table, his hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, physical exertion of holding still, his fingers wrapped around the worn edge of the relic that had once belonged to his...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare