The Golden Maze
The brass gear sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and heavy, its teeth worn smooth by years of friction against iron. He stared at the metal, feeling the weight of it settle into the meat of his hand, a small, dense anchor in the swirling gold of the banquet hall. Around him, the Ironclad Mining Company celebrated the quarter’s yield, the clinking of crystal glasses mixing with the low hum of...
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