The Wistful Saga
The brass key hung on a chain around Elias Thorne’s neck, a cold, heavy pendant that clicked against his sternum with every breath. It was a master key, or at least it had been, before the reorganization. Now it was just a piece of tarnished metal, its teeth worn smooth by years of turning locks in the Municipal Archives of St. Jude’s. Elias sat in his office, a windowless box on the fourth...
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