The Faded Shield
The air in the sub-basement of the Bureau of Historical Preservation smelled of damp limestone and old paper, a scent that had seeped into the pores of Elias Thorne’s hands over twenty years of service. He stood before the iron door, his reflection distorted in the tarnished metal, a man of forty-two who looked sixty. The "Faded Shield," a ceremonial cloak rumored to hold the souls of the dead,...
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