The Faded Ruin
The chisel slipped, biting a thin sliver of porcelain from the cheekbone of the mask, and Elias Thorne caught the fragment before it could shatter further on the steel table. His fingers, stained with the gray dust of three days’ labor, trembled not from fatigue but from the sudden, cold pressure of the whisper that had just brushed against the inside of his skull. In the Ministry of Memory,...
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