The Wistful Silence
"You are holding it too tightly, Elias." The leather creaked under Elias Thorne’s grip, a sound like a knuckle cracking in a silent room. He looked up, his knuckles white, the veins in his forearms standing out like topographic ridges. Director Vane stood in the doorway of the archivist’s office, his silhouette framed by the grey afternoon light filtering through the high, barred windows of the...
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