The Golden Maze
The iron gate of the Blackwood Reformatory groaned open, a sound like a dying man’s last breath, and Elias Thorne stepped out into the grey, soot-choked dawn. The air tasted of coal smoke and wet wool, a flavor that had become indistinguishable from his own skin over the past seven years. He carried nothing but a single, leather-bound satchel and the heavy, dull weight of his own guilt, which...
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