The Wistful Show
The gold coin sat heavy in Elias Thorne’s palm, its edge worn smooth by the thumbs of three generations of debtors, and he turned it over for the third time, watching the faint tarnish catch the grey light of the alleyway before shoving it into the hand of the Gatekeeper. The man, a sallow figure named Prewitt who smelled of damp wool and stale pipe tobacco, did not look up; he simply closed...
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