The Wistful Incense
The air in the Grand Atrium of St. Jude’s Institute for the Preservation of Heritage tasted of dust and old paper. It was a thick, cloying scent, like the breath of a sleeping beast. Elias Thorne stood before the central pillar, his fingers trembling slightly as he held the ledger. The leather was cracked. The pages were brittle. He had spent three months in the sub-basements, crawling through...
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