The Faded Bouquet
The air in the sub-basement of the National Archives smelled of damp limestone and old rot, a scent that had seeped into Elias Thorne’s wool coat over the last three hours of excavation. He stood before the rubble of what had once been the reading room for rare manuscripts, now a collapsed skeleton of charred beams and shattered glass, the aftermath of the fire that had consumed the east wing...
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