The Distant Clue
The banquet was held in the Ministry’s grand atrium, a cavern of polished marble and low, humming servers that smelled of ozone and old dust. Elias Thorne stood by the edge of the room, his tuxedo ill-fitting, his eyes fixed on the sealed crates of the late Chancellor’s files being unloaded by silent staff. He was forty-two, a mid-level archivist whose life had calcified into a routine of...
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