The Wistful Voyage
The water had already begun to rise in the basement of the municipal archive by the time Teodoro Talamantes realized his hands were shaking, a tremor that traveled from his fingertips up through the wrist bones and settled into the deep, aching marrow of his forearms. He stood before the master index, the leather-bound ledger of the city’s legal existence, and felt the humid air of Nueva...
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