The Golden Maze
The mist does not merely settle upon the estate of Lord Alistair Thorne; it consumes it. You stand at the threshold of the great hall, where the gaslight flickers in a rhythm that seems to mimic the failing breath of the man who built this place. You are a soldier, though you have not worn the uniform in three years. You are a man of the law, of the code, of the ironclad structures that hold...
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