The Wistful Grid
Chapter One Ingeborg Hagen’s fingers were already trembling when she reached for the spine of the 1944 patient log, the leather cracked and dry as old skin. She gripped the edge of the desk, the wood splintering slightly under the pressure of her knuckles, and forced her hand to steady over the page. The air in the National Records Office was thick with the dust of decay, a physical weight that...
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