The Golden Maze
The ink was still wet on the final coordinate when Lord Vane’s shadow fell across my drafting table. I did not look up. I knew the weight of that silence, the specific chill that precedes his voice, a cold that seeps into the joints before it touches the skin. "The Maze appears at dawn, Thorne," he said, his tone flat, devoid of inflection, a man reading a ledger of debts. "You will map it. You...
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