The Golden Maze
The dust in the atrium of the Thorne estate hung in the afternoon light like suspended ash, a fine grey powder that coated Elias’s tactical vest and settled into the creases of his forty-five-year-old face. He stood with his back to the grand staircase, the cracked golden compass trembling in his gloved hand, the metal cold and alien against his palm. The compass was a relic from a man who had...
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