The Faded Apartment
The wool coat lay in the dark of the basement, its fabric matted with dust and the faint, sour scent of damp stone, yet the brass buttons caught the beam of Elias Thorne’s lantern with a dull, persistent gleam. He stood in the narrow aisle between the shelves of discarded periodicals, his breath pluming in the cold air, the initials A. V. H. embroidered in faded thread on the inner cuff staring...
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