Mallory's Smile
Senior Clerk Mallory thumbs the perforations with a connoisseur's reverence, his spectacles catching the gaslight. 'Ah, so it has chosen you,' he murmurs, and the key turns in the lock behind him with a soft, terrible click.
His smile stretches a fraction too wide. 'Cogsworth promised it would find a clerk eventually.' The cards tremble in his grip. Outside, the Bureau's brass throat hums on, indifferent.