The Golden Master
The leather satchel was heavy, a weight that settled into the hollow of my shoulder as I packed the final tools, the tweezers, the burnisher, and the small, flat file that had seen thirty years of my life, while outside the rain lashed against the soot-stained windows of the workshop on Fargate, a relentless drumming that sounded less like weather and more like the distant, rhythmic thud of...
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