The Golden Maze
The train moved with a rhythmic, metallic thrum that vibrated through the soles of Silas’s boots. Outside the soot-streaked window, the industrial sprawl of the mid-nineteenth century blurred into a gray smear of brick and coal smoke. Silas Vance sat alone in the second-class compartment. His knuckles were white as he gripped the iron railing. He was a man carved from the same hard stuff as the...
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