The Golden Maze
Thorne. You’re blocking the light again. Elias Thorne did not turn immediately, his back rigid against the conservation table where the fragmented textile lay spread under the halogen lamps. He was forty-two, a man whose joints had begun to ache with the dampness of the museum’s basement, and he knew the sound of Dr. Aris’s footsteps before he saw the shadow fall across the workbench. The...
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