The Golden Harbor
The ink was still wet on the ledger when the ceiling collapsed. Not with a crash, but with a sigh, a long, structural exhalation of dust and rot that turned the afternoon light into a choking grey fog. I stood in the center of the Grand Library, my tweezers trembling in my hand, holding a fragment of vellum no larger than a fingernail. Around me, the spines of ten thousand books cracked and...
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