The Distant Promise
The rain against the windowpane of the archive room did not sound like water, but like the slow, deliberate tapping of a thousand fingernails testing the integrity of a sealed door. Dr. Elias Thorne pressed his forehead against the cold glass, watching the storm swallow the grounds of the institute, where the skeletal branches of the ancient oaks clawed at the low, bruised sky. He was a man who...
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