The Distant Garden
The ink on the ledger was wet, a dark smear that defied the dry air of the Ministry of Records. Elias Thorne stood before the Director’s desk, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the mahogany, his breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts that fogged the glass of the reading lamp. He wanted the file. He wanted the truth of where his brother Julian had gone, a truth that the institution...
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