The Golden Maze
The door did not creak, which was the first wrong thing. Elias stood in the corridor of the palace basement, his hand gripping the iron handle, and listened to the silence. It was a heavy silence, the kind that presses against the eardrums like deep water. He was forty-five, and his knees ached with a dull, persistent throb that had nothing to do with the cold stone under his feet. He was here...
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