The Golden Greenhouse
The ledger sat on your desk, its spine cracked and softened by twenty years of handling, the leather cover warm to the touch in a way that had nothing to do with the heating system’s erratic, dry blast that filled the Ministry of Records. You, Elias Thorne, forty-two and senior archivist, had spent the last three decades cataloguing the state’s memory, and in that time you had learned that...
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