The Distant Clue
You can’t just walk in there, Elias. Mr. Halloway’s voice was low, a flat line of gravel under the hum of the air conditioning. He did not look up from the ledger he was balancing, his pen scratching a rhythmic, dry sound against the paper. Elias stood in the doorway of the records room, his hands still smelling of ash and cold rain, the charred fragment of paper clutched in his left fist until...
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