Chapter ElevenLara arrived at work early the next morning. Her eyes resembled something a bullfrog might be proud of, but she sat in her darkened room and dusted, wrapped and catalogued until her brain hurt. Somehow, reading the notes made by a man in hiding whose words betrayed a n***d fear for his life, consoled and reminded her of her mission. This was her calling, to document the truth about history. It wasn’t her problem what the council decided to do with the knowledge after she’d finished.
Angela visited Lara with enquiries about her progress. She didn’t understand the processes required to heal such precious things and frowned as she concentrated.
“Look,” Lara said, handling the oldest diary with gentle, gloved fingers. “I’ve got rid of the dust. Can you see the detail in the pag
