The Wistful Throne
The dust in the reading room did not merely settle; it hung suspended in the pale, amber light that filtered through the high, arched windows, creating a stillness so profound it felt less like silence and more like a held breath. Elias Thorne sat at the long oak table, his fingers resting on the spine of a volume on structural integrity, his mind, however, was a turbulent sea of arithmetic and...
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