The Wistful Throne
The rain against the high, arched windows of the Sterling Municipal Archives did not sound like weather, but like a thousand small, desperate fingers tapping for attention, a persistent, rhythmic knocking that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones as he hunched over the crumbling ledger from 1924, his eyes burning with the dry, sterile ache of too many hours spent in the...
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