The Faded Dust
The air in the vault was thick, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums, tasting of copper and old paper. Elias Thorne adjusted the leather strap of his satchel, the hide worn smooth by decades of handling rare specimens, and watched the dust motes dance in the single beam of light that pierced the heavy iron door. He was a man of precision, a restorer of botanical curiosities, a...
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