The Golden Maze
The glass was cold against Elias Thorne’s thumb, a chill that seemed to travel up the bone and settle in the marrow, as the golden moth inside the sealed case beat its wings against the pane with a frantic, silent urgency. He had been cleaning the archival dust from the ledgers of the Third Dynasty for three hours, his back aching with the familiar, dull throb that signaled the approach of...
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