The Distant Affair
The mortar in the trowel had long since dried into a crust of white stone, a hard shell over the soft, wet clay beneath, and Elias Vane found himself staring at it not with the irritation of a craftsman interrupted, but with the quiet, heavy resignation of a man watching his own hands turn into stone. He was the Royal Archivist, a title that carried the weight of centuries of dust and the...
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