The Distant Clue
The air in the atrium of the Sterling Municipal Archive smells of dust and old paper, a scent that settles into your lungs like a fine, gray silt, coating the back of your throat with the taste of history that has been left to rot in the dark. You are twelve years old, though your knees ache with a heaviness that belongs to men twice your age, and you stand before the massive, double-leafed oak...
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