PREVIEW
... of Millbrook village, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled over the already dreary landscape.
Aldrin Thorne, a merchant whose reputation once commanded respect across three counties, sat hunched over the reins with his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
"Fucking hell," he spat, wiping sweat from his balding forehead. "This godforsaken shithole."
Behind him in the wagon bed sat rows of carefully packed goods—silk cloth from the eastern trade routes, spices that cost him a ...
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