The Distant Nightmare
The paper lay on the desk, a single sheet of heavy cream stock, the ink still wet and glistening like a fresh wound. Elias Thorne stared at the signature line, his hand hovering, trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the graphite pencil he held. It was a simple form, a request for access to the sub-basement archives, dated three months after his brother’s disappearance...
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