The Golden Maze
The train rattled through the Yorkshire moors, a skeletal beast of iron and steam that smelled of coal dust and damp wool. Elias Thorne sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, his uniform pressed and clean, though his hands trembled slightly against his knees. He was thirty-four years old, and the cough that had plagued him for two winters was beginning to feel like a permanent resident...
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