The Golden Mirror
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the district into a slick, dark mirror that reflected the gaslight in fractured, trembling pools. Inside the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool, stale tobacco, and the metallic tang of fear. Elias Thorne sat in his office, a space so small it felt less like a room and more like a...
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