The Golden Crossing
I counted the hours in the ledger, forty-two years of service marked in ink that seemed to breathe under the fluorescent lights. The pen in my hand felt heavy, a lead weight dragging against the paper, as if the act of writing itself required a physical toll I was not prepared to pay. I was Elias Thorne, a mid-level archivist at the Ministry of Internal Records, and my only desire was to secure...
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