The Faded Photograph
The annual gala at St. Jude’s Institute for Neurological Degeneration was a spectacle of glass and light, a shimmering cage that held the city’s elite in its cold embrace. Eleanor Whitmore stood by the ice sculpture of a wilting rose, her fingers numb not from the chill of the venue but from the tremor that had begun three days prior. She was the head of the Archival Integrity Department, a...
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