The Faded Chronicle
The invitation card lay on the table, its gold leaf peeling in long, flaking strips that Elias Thorne tried to peel away with his thumbnail. The paper was heavy, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of the vanilla extract used in the department’s sealing wax. It read: *Celebration of Service, Ministry of Internal Audit, Hall B. 8:00 PM. Your presence is required.* Elias looked at the clock on the...
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