The Distant Summer
The brass key is warm in your palm, a small, dense weight that seems to pulse with a heat unrelated to the autumn chill seeping through the Ministry’s high windows. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and for the last six months, you have been a shadow in the corridors of the Ministry of Records, a man whose face is known only to the dust and the silence of the lower archives. Your want...
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