The Golden Master
The reflection in the steel did not move when Elias moved, a dissonance that had begun three weeks ago and now felt less like a hallucination and more like a second tenant in the room. Elias Thorne, forty-two, master engraver, wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag that smelled of oil and old iron, his eyes burning with the strain of a task that required a steady hand he no longer possessed....
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