The champagne in New Atlantis bubbled like liquid ambition, and James Thorne watched it with the detached fascination of a man who understood exactly how much it cost and how little it meant.
He had been twenty-four when the current hit him—the live wire during a market crash that should have ended his career and instead delivered him to this world, to this body: James Thorne, twenty-four, heir to a once-great magical family now reduced to a crumbling townhouse and a mountain of debts. In his old life, James had been a hedge fund manager. He had built portfolios that outperformed...
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