The Pale Bridge
Thorne, stop fidgeting with that ledger and tell me what you are doing with your hands. You looked up from the desk, your fingers still curled around the spine of the inventory book, and saw that Curator Halloway was standing in the doorway of the archive, her arms crossed over a cardigan that looked too thin for the chill drifting in from the corridor. The room smelled of wet wool and the...
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