The Golden Maze
The brass key in Elias’s hand was cold, heavy enough to bruise the palm, and it smelled of rust and old oil. He stood in the antechamber of the Aethelgard Archive, a building that had once been a textile mill but now housed the city’s most guarded secrets, while the rain lashed against the high, grimy windows. The light from the gas lamps was flickering, casting long, jittery shadows that...
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