The Wistful Mountain
Thorne. The name hung in the air of the archives, heavy and dry, spoken by Director Halloway with the flat affect of a man reading a inventory list. Elias looked up from his desk, where he had already packed his personal effects into a worn leather satchel. The leather was cracked along the seams, a map of twenty years of handling, and he had touched it one last time before closing it, feeling...
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