The Wistful Atlas
The champagne flowed in thick, golden ribbons through the crystal flutes of the State Archives’ grand hall, catching the light of the chandeliers in a way that made the dust motes look like suspended stars. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the buffet table, his tie loosened against the collar of his dress shirt, watching the younger staff cluster around Julian Vane, who was laughing with a...
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