The Wistful Witness
Chapter One Taro Kimura peeled the adhesive backing from a fresh strip of archival tape, his breath held tight in his chest. The vault was cold, a sterile white box that smelled of ozone and old paper. He was fifty-two years old, and his hands, usually steady enough to bind a spine, trembled as he laid the tape over the tear in the ledger. This was the final volume of the 1923 survey records....
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