The Distant Summer
The crate sat in the center of the archive’s main hall, a wooden coffin of secrets that smelled of mildew and old wool, and you, Elias Thorne, stood before it with a transfer order in your pocket that you had not yet dared to present. It was the summer of 1943, and the air raids over Oakhaven had grown so frequent that the dust from the shattered windows seemed to hang in the beams of the...
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