The Distant Temple
The notice lay on the polished mahogany of the banquet table, its crisp white surface a stark contrast to the heavy, grease-spotted linens of the municipal hall, and Elias Thorne stared at the signature line as if it were a noose waiting for his neck, the ink shimmering with a wet, predatory gloss. He was fifty-two years old, a city sanitation inspector who had spent three decades measuring the...
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