The Golden Maze
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended grey mist that clung to the wool of Silas Thorne’s coat and seeped into the bone-deep cold of his limbs. He stood at the edge of the Blackwood Quarry, a vast, open wound in the earth that had been the site of iron extraction for three generations, and watched the fog swallow the distant silhouette of the mill. The air smelled of wet rust and...
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