The Golden Master
The air in the High Observatory tasted of ozone and old dust, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat as he adjusted the micrometer on the Grand Meridian’s central axis. He was twenty-four years old, young enough to believe that precision was a moral virtue, and he stood before the massive golden astrolabe with the desperate, vibrating focus of a man who knows that his...
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