The Golden Master
The train cut through the fog like a blade through grey wool, and Thomas Vane watched the countryside dissolve into the soot-choked haze of Oakhaven. He was twelve years old, his coat too large for his shoulders, his fingers white-knuckled around the handle of a leather-bound journal. The book was warm to the touch, heavier than its size suggested, its cover embossed with gold leaf that seemed...
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