The Distant Threshold
The brass key in your hand is cold, heavier than it has any right to be, and the sound of the lock clicking shut is the only thing you hear in the sudden, vacuum-sealed silence of the main hall. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a junior archivist who has spent the last six years cataloging the damp rot of Oakhaven’s history, and your concrete want is simple: to secure the permanent head...
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