The Wistful Voyage
The silver cufflink lay in the palm of Elias Thorne’s hand, cold and smooth as a river stone, its surface unmarred by the years of confinement in the estate box. He turned it over, watching the light catch the engraved initials of his father, a man who had died with a stain on his name that no amount of scrubbing could lift. Elias was forty, an archivist in the Department of State Records, a...
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