The Golden Maze
The wind did not howl. It hummed. A low, resonant vibration that traveled through the stone walls of the Ashworth estate, settling into the bones of those who lived within. It was a sound of industry, of gears turning in the dark, of steam pressing against valves. It was the breath of the machine. Elias Thorne stood by the window. His back was straight. His hands were still. He was an old man,...
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