The Golden Maze
The morning light hit the drafting table at a sharp forty-five degree angle, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stale air, and Elias Thorne heard his name called from the hallway, sharp and thin as a snapped wire. He did not look up. He was adjusting the scale bar on the survey of the North Quarter, a job that paid twelve dollars an hour and required a precision of one millimeter per...
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