The Golden Maze
Thorne, you are late again. The voice of the Chief Inspector, Mr. Halloway, did not carry the heat of anger, but the cold, flat weight of a stamp pressed into wet clay. It echoed off the high, vaulted ceilings of the Imperial Horology Chamber, a space that smelled perpetually of ozone, hot brass filings, and the stale, dusty scent of bureaucratic fear. Elias Thorne stood before the central...
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