The Pale Tower
Act I Tigran Popescu, a man of thirty-four years who had not slept more than four hours a night for three months, sat in the archive with the smell of damp peat and old varnish thick in his throat. He was an archivist, a mid-level clerk whose tenure hung by a thread thinner than the paper he handled, and he needed to finish the digitization of the estate’s ledger by Friday or he would be fired....
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