The Golden Greenhouse
The glass office stood in the center of the floor like a jewel set in a mouth of iron. It was called the Golden Greenhouse, a name that tasted of sugar and rot, and Elias Thorne knew every crack in its lead seals as well as he knew the lines on his own face. He stood before it, his hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the soot that hung in the air of the 1893...
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