The Distant Affair
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, black mirrors. In the basement of the Municipal Archives, a building that smelled of damp wool and decaying paper, Elias Thorne sat before a desk that had been his own for twenty years. The wood was worn smooth by the friction of his palms, the varnish rubbed away to a...
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