The Golden Master
The air in the dye house of Halloway & Sons Textile Mill tasted of sulfur and old sweat, a thick, cloying fog that settled in the lungs and refused to leave. Arthur Vane sat alone in the cramped, soot-stained office at the end of the production line, the door bolted shut behind him, clutching a small, golden vial that had stolen from the foreman’s desk. He was sixteen, a boy of lowly status...
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