The Distant Cartograph
The gaslight in the archive flickers with a sputtering, arrhythmic pulse, casting long, trembling shadows that seem to stretch toward the door like grasping fingers, and you, Elias Thorne, stand before the desk of Magistrate Halloway, clutching a leather-bound map that is warm to the touch, its surface slick with a humidity that does not match the dry, stale air of the room. You are thirty-two...
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