The Golden Compass
The dream was always the same: a golden compass, its needle spinning with a frantic, hypnotic velocity, the brass casing warm against his palm, the ticking a sound like a heartbeat accelerating toward rupture. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of copper in his mouth and the sweat cooling on his forehead. He sat up in the dark of his cramped apartment, the silence of the room pressing in on him,...
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