The Golden Master
The thread is thinner than a hair, yet it weighs as much as the stone in the wall. Elias Thorne looked up from the ledger, his neck stiff from hours of hunching over the velvet-lined table, and saw the gossamer strand hovering in the corner of his eye, shimmering with a wet, spectral light that seemed to pull the air toward it. He blinked, rubbing the grit from his eyes, but the strand...
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