The Wistful Silence
The trowel slipped in my hand, scraping a shallow gouge into the oak shelf, and the sound of the scrape was so loud in the empty room that it seemed to echo back to me from a distance of miles. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, an archivist by trade and a man who has spent the last decade believing that if one simply organized the chaos of the world into neat, labeled boxes, the world...
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