The Wistful Witness
The name Elias Thorne had a weight to it, a heavy, gravelly drag that Director Halloway used like a weapon. He said it not to summon, but to dismiss, his voice flat and dry as the dust in the archive’s lower stacks. I stood before his desk, the torn page from Aris’s drawer clutched in my sweating palm, the paper’s edge sharp enough to cut the skin. The page was a fragment of a border survey,...
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