The Faded Quadrant
The rain on the slate roof of the Imperial Archive was a rhythmic, grinding sound that seemed to seep into the bones, a constant reminder of the damp rot that waited in the sub-basements where the oldest records were kept, and you, Elias Thorne, stood in the center of the reading room with a ledger clutched so tightly in your hands that the paper had begun to tear under the pressure of your...
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