The Distant Garden
The morning light fell in a pale, dusty shaft across the oak desk, illuminating the three hundred and forty-two pages of the *Codex Aeterna* that remained in the binder. Elias Thorne counted them again, his finger tracing the spines with the precision of a man measuring out his own pulse, because the alternative was to admit that the number had dropped by four since last Tuesday. He was sixty...
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