The Pale Banner
Thorne. The voice was sharp, coming from the shadows of the reading room, a command that cut through the dust motes hanging in the slanted afternoon light. Elias Thorne looked up from his desk, his fingers still stained with the black ink of his recent annotations. He was thirty-two, a man who had spent the last decade chasing a ghost in the papers, a historian whose life had narrowed to a...
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