The Faded Apartment
The rain did not fall so much as it was driven against the windowless basement office of the Ministry of Records, a relentless, grey assault that vibrated through the concrete walls and into the bones of Elias Thorne. He sat behind a desk of scarred oak, forty-two years old, his hands resting on a ledger that felt heavier than it had a moment before, the weight of twenty years of service...
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