The Distant Metropolis
Elias Thorne held the ledger in his hands, the leather cover slick with a moisture that had no source, and felt the weight of it settle into his palms like a stone dropped into a deep well. He was thirty-four years old, an archivist at the Municipal Records Office, and he had six months of service to go before his tenure became permanent. The Hum was the obstacle. It had started in the...
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