The Golden Maze
The letter from the hospital had arrived that morning, its crisp white paper a stark, offensive contrast to the dust-choked air of the study. Elias Thorne read it twice, the ink blurring slightly under the weight of his spectacles, before folding it into a small square and placing it in his breast pocket. He was forty-two, a man who had built his reputation on the precise, sterile taxonomy of...
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