The Faded Root
Thorne, stop fidgeting. The voice of the chief archivist, Mr. Halloway, drifted through the double doors of the basement records room, thin and irritated, cutting through the dust-mote haze that hung in the late afternoon light. Elias Thorne did not stop. He could not stop. His right hand, the one holding the fountain pen, was a traitor, a small mechanical failure in the body, trembling with a...
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