The Wistful Crossroads
The summons came not as a shout but as a silence that swallowed the hum of the ventilation system, a void in the corridor that Elias recognized with the instant, cold certainty of a man who has spent two decades learning the moods of his employer. He stood before the heavy oak door of the Chief Archivist’s office, his hand hovering over the brass knob, fingers trembling with a palsy that had...
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