The Wistful Saga
The air in the library smelled of dust and old paper, a dry scent that seemed to settle in the lungs and refuse to leave. Elias sat at his desk, the green banker’s lamp casting a pool of amber light over the open volume of *The History of the Western Front*. His fingers, stained with ink, hovered over the page. He did not read. He was waiting. Outside, the rain tapped against the high windows,...
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