The Golden Maze
The frost on the windowpane was thick as putty, and the cold in the workshop was so deep it ached in Elias Thorne’s joints. He did not look up from the escapement he was holding, his tweezers steady despite the tremor that had begun in his left hand three days prior. Outside, the wind howled through the pines of Vael, a sound that sounded less like weather and more like a warning. He had come...
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