The Wistful Letter
November 14, 1924. The paper on my desk is a bill for the repair of a window pane, signed in a hand that shakes slightly, the ink a dull, dried brown that matches the dust settling on the ledger I have not yet found. I am Elias Thorne, and I am currently hiding behind the heavy oak cabinet that holds my case files, my breath held so tight in my chest that it feels like a physical weight...
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