The Faded Masquerade
The committee’s decision was final, Mr. Thorne, and I suggest you collect your personal effects from the second-floor office before the cleaners arrive in the morning, Halloway said, his voice carrying the smooth, frictionless quality of oiled leather. Elias stood in the doorway of the municipal archive, where the air tasted of dust and decaying lignin, a scent that had permeated his clothes...
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