The Distant Temple
The jar is on the desk. It is a squat, glass vessel, the kind you might find in a pharmacy or a basement. Inside, suspended in a cloudy, amber fluid, sits a fragment of bone. It is not large. It is the size of a thumbnail. It is white, brittle, and cracked. You know what it is. You have known for three days. You have not looked at it directly. You look at the rim of the glass. You look at the...
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