The Distant Ghost
"Excess. Flagged for quarterly review." The ink on the file was not black. It was the color of dried blood, a deep, oxidized rust that seemed to pull the light out of the workshop loft. Anneliese Arnold stared at the entry for her father, Konrad Arnold, a translator of thirty years. The paper smelled of iron filings and damp wool, a scent that clung to the back of her throat. She was...
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