The Wistful Letter
The rain lashed the stone. It fell in sheets, gray and relentless, against the high windows of the Ministry. "Sign it," said the Director. His voice was soft. Too soft. It curled around the silence like smoke. Elias Thorne did not look up. He held the pen. The nib hovered over the parchment. The ink glistened, black as a bruise. "Sign it, Elias." "I cannot," Elias said. His voice was rough....
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