The Golden Mirror
The seal is broken, and if you do not mend it before the tide turns, the Ministry will have your head on a pike, the Inquisitor’s voice carrying across the wet, muddy dock where the air smelled of brine and failing machinery. Milan Kucera did not answer, for his jaw was locked in a spasm that had nothing to do with the cold, which was a dry, biting thing that seeped into the marrow of his...
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