The Pale Altar
The deadline was three days away, and the silence in the basement was heavy enough to bruise the skin. Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and twenty-two of those spent in the municipal archive, knew the specific density of a quiet that was being watched. It was not the empty quiet of a room with no people in it, but the thick, wet silence of a mouth held shut, a pressure that sat on his...
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