The Pale Shadows
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, persistent mist that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, black mirrors. We were gathered in the vaulted hall of the Municipal Archive, a building that smelled of damp limestone, dried lavender, and the slow, inevitable decay of paper. It was a banquet of silence, a feast for those of us who had sworn to keep the...
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