Desperation has a price, but what happens when the currency is your soul? For Elias, the answer lay in the palm of his hand. This was not a shriveled relic from a children's tale, but the cold, pliable hand of a hanged sorcerer. Its skin was like chilled wax, its form made monstrous by a sixth finger that curled inward, as if beckoning him closer. Crushed by his father's debt, haunted by the ph...
