The Distant Threshold
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the city and turned the streets into slick, dark mirrors. Elias Vane stood at the bottom of the grand staircase in the Hall of Records, his tie loosened, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the leather satchel against his hip. The air in the atrium was thick with the scent of damp wool and old...
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