The Golden Ritual
"Did you see the baker?" The question hangs in the damp air of the constable’s office, sharp and brittle. I look up from the ledger. The ink is still wet, a black smear that looks suspiciously like a bruise. My left knee throbs, a dull, rhythmic pounding that matches the tick of the clock on the wall. I am Elias. I am thirty-four years old. I have served Oakhaven for twelve years, and in six...
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