The Golden Compass
The banquet hall of the Grand Hotel Bellevue was a cavern of suffocating opulence, where the air hung heavy with the cloying perfume of lilies and the metallic tang of spilled wine, a sensory overload that pressed against the eardrums of everyone present, including the quiet, unassuming figure of Sergeant Elias Thorne who sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, his hands folded tightly...
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