The Distant Summer
The glass jar sat on the steel table, its surface slick with condensation, and Elias Thorne’s hands trembled as he adjusted the magnifying lamp, the light cutting a pale cone through the dust of the basement archive. He was thirty-two, a junior archivist with ink-stained cuticles and a promotion that hung by a thread, and he needed the estate of his deceased mentor, Julian Vane, to be cataloged...
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