The Wistful Silence
The ink is bleeding again, Elias thought, watching the red vein spread across the page of Halloway’s final ledger, and the sound of the fluorescent light above him buzzed with a frequency that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. He was forty-two years old, a senior archivist at the Meridian Institute, and he had spent the last six hours in the sub-basement cataloging the unverified entries of the...
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