The Golden Circuit
The ink on the parchment was still wet when Elias Thorne realized that the map he had drawn was a lie, not of geography, but of memory. He sat in the high window of the Tower of Whispers, a structure of black basalt that pierced the smog-choked sky of Oakhaven, a city where the cobblestones hummed with a low, electric frequency that vibrated in the teeth of anyone who listened too closely....
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