The Distant Summer
The rain hits the window of the archive room with a rhythmic, percussive violence that makes your teeth ache, a sound that seems to vibrate directly into the bones of your skull. You are Elias, thirty-four years old, and you are trying to hold a piece of history still while your hands betray you. The ledger is a water-damaged thing, its pages fused together by a century of neglect and a recent...
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