The Golden Maze
The confession was supposed to be signed by noon, a simple formality to close a decade of rot, but when I opened my desk drawer to retrieve the ink, I found the ledger gone, replaced by a single, golden wax seal bearing the Chancery’s own crest, a symbol I have guarded with the ferocity of a man protecting his own heart for twenty years. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior inquisitor of the...
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