The Golden Maze
The leather strap of his satchel bit into Elias Thorne’s palm as he hauled the heavy box from the shelf, the motion jerking a sharp pain from his lower back that he had long since learned to ignore. He did not look up; his eyes were fixed on the date stamped in red ink on the spine: October 14th. The air in the sub-basement was thick with the scent of decaying paper and the metallic tang of old...
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