The Golden Master
The key turned in the lock with a sound like a bone cracking, and then the door swung open on hinges that had not been oiled in a decade, letting in a gust of cold air that smelled of wet wool and old paper. "Elias," Clara said, her voice sharp against the silence of the workshop, "you are not here, are you?" She did not wait for an answer, stepping over the threshold with the heavy, deliberate...
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