The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-22 18:59:57 -

The scale in the central sorting room ticked a steady, mechanical rhythm, counting the weight of the mail in pounds and ounces, a dry, rhythmic percussion that Arthur Vane had come to mistake for his own heartbeat over the last three months. He stood before the heavy oak desk of Director Halloway, his hands clasped so tightly that the knuckles had gone white, and on his left palm, resting...

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