The Distant Whispers
Chapter One "Property of the State. Do Not Open." Ljubomir Dimitrov held the slip of paper until the edges crinkled under his thumb, the ink bleeding slightly where his sweat had dampened it. He was thirty-four years old, a junior archivist in a house that smelled of damp wool and old paper, and he needed the promotion more than he needed air. The estate of his mentor, the late Arsen, was the...
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