The Distant Ghost
"Case closed, Mr. Thorne. You might as well put the file down." The magistrate’s hand was a pale, dry thing, fingers tapping a rhythmic, dismissive beat against the leather cover of the dossier as he slid it across the mahogany desk, the motion so casual it felt like brushing away a fly rather than closing a decade of your father’s life. You stood there in the small, windowless office, the air...
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