The Wistful Cipher
The clock shattered. Not ticked. Shattered. A glass starburst on the office floor. I stood still. Dust motes danced. Silence held its breath. Then the hum returned. The fluorescent lights buzzed. Low. Constant. I looked down. The hour was gone. My name is Silas Vane. I work in the archives. Sub-basement level four. The Department of Temporal Integrity. We keep the minutes. Not the money. Not...
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