The Golden Circuit
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, grey curtain that smelled of wet iron and rotting leaves, wrapping around the soot-stained brickwork of the mill district until the world outside the window of Elias Thorne’s study was nothing but a suggestion, a ghost of the city that had once been proud and now was only tired. He sat with his back to the door, the leather chair...
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