The Wistful Crossroads
The memo was printed on heavy, cream-colored stock, the kind that felt like old skin against the fingertips. Elias Thorne held it under the fluorescent light of the municipal archive, the paper trembling slightly not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the ink. It was a directive from the Bureau of Civic Memory, signed by Inspector Halloway, a man whose signature looked less like a name and...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews