The Distant Affair
The silk was cold against Elias Thorne’s fingertips, a shock that traveled up his wrist and settled in the hollow of his chest. He was kneeling on the floor of the back room of the archive, surrounded by the dry, papery smell of decaying ledgers and the dust of three centuries of municipal record-keeping. The scarf lay in the bottom drawer of his mentor’s desk, a garment of deep indigo with a...
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