The Golden Maze
The key was cold, but the air was hot. It pressed against Elias Thorne’s eardrums, a physical weight that made his vision blur at the edges. He stood in the courtyard of the Blackwood Asylum, the rain slicking the cobblestones into a mirror that reflected nothing but the jagged, shifting geometry of the building’s facade. The walls were not stone, nor brick, nor concrete. They were ink....
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