The Wistful Letter
The letter was not meant for the Director. It was meant for the truth, or so Elias Thorne told himself as he sealed the envelope with wax the color of dried blood. But the Blackwood Institute did not deal in truths; it dealt in ledgers, and the ledger was bleeding. Elias, forty-two, a senior archivist with ink permanently stained into the whorls of his fingerprints, had spent three months...
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