The Distant Affair
The solvent smell was sharper than the fear. Elias Thorne held the brush steady, his hand trembling not from age but from the weight of the silence in the archive. It was the third night in a row. The Royal Palace slept above him, a heavy, stone-skinned beast that did not stir when the moonlight hit the floor, but Elias felt the building’s breath in the draft that rattled the iron shutters. He...
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