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... dew. Junior hated coming down here, but the head librarian had insisted. "There’s an old manuscript that needs cataloging," she’d said, shoving a dusty crate into his arms without ceremony. Junior sighed, adjusting his grip on it as he descended the creaky wooden stairs. The dim overhead light flickered, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls.
He set the crate down on a rickety table, wiping the dust off with the sleeve of his sweater. The books inside were ancient, their spines cracke ...
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