The Golden Master
The shipment leaves at four, and if the batch is flawed, we all go under, Elias Thorne said, his voice thin and brittle against the hum of the looms, though no one was there to hear it but the dust motes dancing in the shaft of afternoon light that cut across the inspection floor. He had woken an hour before dawn to the recurring dream, the one where the golden loom turned with a sound like...
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