The Distant Clue
Thorne, you are late for the toast. The voice of Director Vance cut through the low hum of the ballroom, sharp as a blade dragged across glass. I stood by the heavy oak doors, my hand still resting on the cold brass handle, feeling the vibration of the crowd’s applause for the man who had just taken the stage. The air in the Hall of Merit was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and stale...
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