The Faded Photograph
The gavel struck the oak table with a sound like a bone breaking. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the committee room, his hands trembling not from anger but from the sheer, crushing weight of the air. He was fifty-two years old, a man who had spent three decades cataloging the past, yet here he stood, unable to keep his own timeline straight. Across the table, Dr. Arthur Penhaligon, his...
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