The Pale Echo
The clock on the wall ticked with the heavy, mechanical patience of a guillotine, marking the forty-third minute of silence since Marcus had left. Elias Thorne sat in his office at the Ministry of Antiquities, his fingers tracing the grain of the oak desk, counting the scratches in the wood as if they were lines in a ledger. He needed to prove the Pale Echo was a forgery, a task that felt less...
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