The Faded Quadrant
The solvent hissed against the vellum, a sharp, chemical scream that seemed to vibrate through the concrete floor of the basement, and Elias Thorne pressed his thumb harder against the fading quadrant of the psalter, his breath held in a tight, white knot in his chest. It was four in the morning, the hour when the St. Jude’s Library became a tomb, and the only light came from the harsh, buzzing...
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