The Faded Attic
The rain against the high windows of the Meridian Institute’s attic storage room was a rhythmic, relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into the soles of your shoes, a sound that had become inextricably linked to the smell of decaying paper and the dust that coated your eyelashes as you worked. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior archivist whose...
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