The Distant Crown
The letter sat on the mahogany desk, the ink still wet, smelling of iron and damp paper. Elias Thorne read the signature block, his thumb tracing the heavy weight of the Director’s seal, a cold brass thing that felt like a stone in his palm. He had wanted to keep his job, to secure his place as the senior archivist at the Blackwood Estate, and this single sheet of paper had just erased twenty...
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