The Distant Whispers
Could a man be guilty of a crime he had not yet committed? Camille Lefevre, thirty-two, a junior archivist with ink permanently stained into the whorls of his fingerprints, stood before the heavy oak doors of the west wing at Vieux-Château, the air heavy with damp wool and the cold that had frozen the well three days prior. He was here to prove the collection’s unique value to Director Moreau,...
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