The Golden Cellar
The glass in your hand is thick, heavy, and warm from the grip of your fingers, a small anchor against the trembling air of the dining room. "You’re certain, Elias? The terms are absolute." Colonel Halloway’s voice is low, a rumble that seems to come from the floorboards rather than his throat, his eyes fixed on the spread of roast pheasant and silver-plated cutlery before him. You nod, the...
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