The Pale Meridian
You’re still chasing a ghost, Elias. Sarah’s voice cuts through the hum of the heating vents, sharp and bright against the beige linoleum of the archive. She leans against the filing cabinet, arms crossed, her smile tight with the specific cruelty of someone who believes they have finally cornered a fool. I look up from the monograph, my eyes stinging from the fluorescent light that buzzes like...
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