The Distant Clue
The file was thin, almost translucent, bound in a cover of cracked leather that smelled of dust and old varnish. Margaret held it against her chest, her knuckles white, as if the paper contained the last breath of a dying god. Around her, the archive room hummed with the low, electric drone of climate control units, a sound that had long since become the background noise of her existence. It...
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