The Wistful Silence
The ledger had been open for three days, its pages yellowed like old teeth, and Giovanni Ferraro knew that the ink on the seal was watching him back. He was thirty-two, a senior archivist at the Ministry of Records, and the promotion to Head of Custody hung in the balance, a prize that required the decoding of a cursed entry in the Ministry’s oldest volume. The seal was not static; it moved, a...
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