The Wistful Crossroads
The municipal archive of Oakhaven did not rot so much as it exhaled, a slow, structural sigh that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth before he heard it in the creaking of the joists above him. He stood in the center of the main reading room, the dust motes dancing in the pale, late-afternoon light that filtered through the grime-caked windows, watching the foundation stones shift with a grinding,...
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