Every single book in the "C-12" section was missing exactly one thing.
Elias worked in the basement of the City Archive, a place where books went to be forgotten. His job was simple: catalog the "damaged" goods. Most of the time, "damaged" meant a coffee stain or a torn cover. But lately, he had noticed a pattern. Every single book in the "C-12" section was
Elias reached for the final sheet of paper, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the words and realized that to stop the story, he would have to stop reading. He looked up, and for the first time, he noticed the shadow standing in the doorway of the archive. Most of the time, "damaged" meant a coffee
"Page 9 is gone again," Elias whispered, sliding a dusty leather-bound journal across his desk. He checked the next one—a Victorian romance. Then a technical manual on bridge building. In each one, the story skipped from Page 8 to Page 10. The jagged edge left behind was always clean, as if sliced by a razor. He looked at the words and realized that
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He found it tucked inside the very back of the shelf, hidden behind a loose brick. It wasn't just one page; it was a stack of hundreds. Every Page 9 ever stolen from the archive was gathered there.