The heavy oak door of the private terrace slammed open with a violent, splintering shudder that rattled the iron sconces on the basalt walls. Alpha Garrick stumbled out onto the freezing stone platform, his breath reeking of spiced southern brandy and stale roasted boar, his heavy fists clenched so tightly the leather of his gloves creaked. Behind him hovered four of his burliest Ironspire bodyguards, their hands resting nervously on…
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