The Distant Journey
The ink was still wet when I told him. "Sir, the fire is out," I said, my voice thin in the cold air of the archive room. "I cannot burn the ledger. I need a match, or a lighter, or your permission to use the stove." Director Halloway did not look up from his desk. He was stamping a document, a rhythmic thud, thud, thud that seemed to sync with the beating in my temples. "Protocol, Mr. Vance....
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