The Pale Shadows
The ultraviolet lamp hummed, a low, electric thrum that vibrated in Elias’s molars as he lifted the ledger from the oak desk. His fingers, numb and white, slipped on the leather binding. He was thirty-two, a junior archivist on a salary that barely covered the rent in his cramped apartment, and he was cataloging the estate of his father, Judge Thomas Whitmore, to secure his tenure at the...
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