The Distant Crown
The letter sat on the mahogany desk of the Chief of Security, a white rectangle against the dark wood, and it was this object, small and innocuous as a postage stamp, that had dismantled the entire architecture of Julian Vane’s childhood in the space of a single breath. He stood in the center of the atrium of the St. Jude’s Institute for Advanced Cognitive Research, a place that smelled of...
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