<< Ghosts - James Vincent McMorrow >>
She averted her eyes from Annalise and walked slowly towards one of the tall, glass cabinets that lined the walls of her office.
Silently, she opened one of the cases and lifted an antique wooden box inlaid with carvings of thistles from its shelf. She walked back to her desk and produced a small, brass key from a thin chain hidden beneath her shirt.
Annalise stepped closer with an odd, nervous apprehension, her eyes drawn to a single book that lay inside it.
After the devastation of a nuclear winter at the end of the Last War, paper became near impossible to produce and Annalise had rarely seen anything resembling a genuine, physical book before.
Its cover was worn and withered at the edges as though a single touch could cause its pages to crumble into sand beneath your fingers.
"What is that?" She asked, the curiosity pulling her closer against her better instincts.
