The Golden Cellar
The coin was warm, too warm for metal left in a cellar for three days. Elias Thorne held it between thumb and forefinger, the gold soft against his skin like a living thing. He turned it over. The Duke’s profile stared back, serene and hollow-eyed. The air in the vault smelled of damp limestone and old blood, a scent that clung to the wool of his tunic. Behind him, the heavy oak door slammed...
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