The Golden Song
I have counted the hours. Fourteen hours of silence, four hours of work, and one hour of dread that sat on my chest like a wet wool coat. The Meridian Institute’s archive smells of vinegar and old paper, a scent that has settled into my pores over five years of service. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a junior archivist whose tenure is contingent on a single, impossible task: the restoration of...
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