The Golden Mirror
The rain lashed against the high, narrow windows of the Blackwood Institute, blurring the gaslight of the street below into weeping smears of amber. Elias Thorne stood before the central mirror in the reading room, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his collar. He was fifty-two, a senior archivist with thirty years of service, and he had come here for one reason: to secure his pension...
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