The Faded Road
"Stop touching the vellum, Elias." Your fingers are still on the page, trembling against the rough, fibrous surface of the twelfth-century parchment. You pull your hand back as if burned, though the skin is only cold. Sarah stands in the doorway of the archive, her arms crossed over her cardigan, her expression a mask of professional disinterest that barely conceals the sharp edge of concern in...
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