The Distant Ghost
The heavy oak doors of the National Library’s main entrance had just closed behind me, sealing out the biting chill of the November wind, when the weight of the cardboard box in my hands seemed to double, pressing against my lower back with a physical ache that mirrored the hollow sensation in my stomach. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior archivist with twenty years of service,...
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