The Faded Ruin
The final report lay on the desk, a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper that weighed more than it should have. Elias Thorne held it with hands that trembled, not from fear, but from the sudden, crushing weight of the ink, which had dried in a way that suggested age rather than hours. He was forty years old, an archivist in the fourth year of the New Order, and he had three hours before...
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