The Distant Temple
The letter from the Bureau of Parapsychological Standards arrived on a Tuesday, its seal cracked and the paper smelling faintly of ozone, a scent that always preceded the static. You read it three times in the sterile light of your office, the fluorescent tubes humming a low, irritating B-flat that seemed to vibrate in your teeth. The reprimand cited "unauthorized necromantic resonance," a...
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