The Wistful Voyage
The crystal chandeliers of Lord Vane’s estate cast a web of fractured light across the banquet hall, illuminating the polished silver and the taut, expensive silks of the guests. Elias Thorne sat at the far end of the long table, his hands resting on the white linen, a small, brass compass clutched tightly in his left palm. The needle inside the glass case spun lazily, a slow, hypnotic wobble...
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