The Distant Affair
The ink was wet. That was the first thing that was wrong. The ledger, bound in cracked leather and labeled *The Distant Affair*, had been sealed in the basement archive of the Blackwood Institute since 1984. I am Elias. I am thirty-two. I am a junior archivist. My job is to catalog the dead before the quarterly audit. I wanted the ledger closed, cataloged, and filed away by five o’clock. The...
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