The Wistful Atlas
The file was missing from the drawer, a void where the leather-bound dossier of the Kestrel Incident should have rested, and I stood in the blue-tinged silence of the Ministry of Records, my breath fogging in the damp air as I realized the trap had already sprung. I had found it an hour ago, misfiled among the tax ledgers of 1892, its pages thick with the ink-stained evidence that Director...
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