The Golden Maze
The house did not creak; it thrummed, a low, rhythmic vibration that Elias Thorne felt not in his ears but in the roots of his teeth, a resonance that seemed to emanate from the very bedrock of the earth beneath the floorboards. At forty-two, Elias was a man of precise angles and quiet habits, a master clockmaker whose hands possessed a steadiness that had once been the pride of the trade, but...
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