The Golden Ritual
The fee is five hundred pounds, or the case is closed." You say it before the man finishes pouring his tea. The cup is thin china, chipped at the rim, and the steam smells of burnt dust and stale lavender. Lord Ashworth does not look at you. He looks at the window, where the light is failing, turning the room a bruised purple. He is a small man, precise in his movements, but there is a tremor...
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