The Golden Crossing
The counter on Elias Thorne’s desk clicked with the steady, dry rhythm of a metronome, marking the passage of hours in the sub-basement of the Ministry of Records, where the air tasted of dust and the faint, metallic tang of old iron. He had three weeks left until his mandatory retirement, a date that loomed over his head like a guillotine blade, and in those twenty-one days he needed to...
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