The Golden Oath
"The ring is not for sale, Sergeant. It is for keeping." Elias Thorne did not look up from the object in his palm, a tarnished gold band that felt less like metal and more like a cold stone pulled from a riverbed in winter. He stood alone in the cramped confines of his London barracks, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and the distant, rhythmic clatter of the looms from the textile...
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