The Distant Metropolis
The silver cufflink slipped from Elias Thorne’s fingers and rolled across the mahogany desk, its metallic surface catching the harsh fluorescent light of the archive room with a brightness that seemed to cut through the dust motes hanging in the stagnant air. He did not move to pick it up, his hand trembling so violently that he could not feel the wood grain beneath his palm, only a cold, wet...
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