Dr. Sarah Chen's office, austerely furnished with pieces half as old as Cambridge itself, contained precisely arranged evidence of missing things. Field notes filled the gap between a Ming dynasty scroll and a collection of Sanskrit fragments. Comparative analyses of temple ruins formed neat stacks on her desk, each pile a carefully measured height. Red string connected the papers on her walls in patterns that helped her track anomalies across traditions and centuries. Her colleagues called it the conspiratorium, and although they would never say it to her face, she'd overheard it on occasion– many of her colleagues barely noticed her quiet presence in the departmental lunch room or faculty meetings.

  The interdepartmental letter occupied the exact center of her blotter, its placement so precise it might have been measured. It had appeared in her faculty mailbox on Tuesday. The paper felt oddly smooth under her fingers, expensive in a way that made her wonder about the department's funding. The letterhead bore the university's crest, though something about the typography seemed slightly off, as if it had been printed with an unusual font.

  Our Department of Historical Reconciliation, it began, seeks your expertise regarding certain materials from the 1908 Inner Mongolia Expedition. As you may be aware, Dr. Margaret Blackwood's final transmissions from the Gobi suggested the discovery of artefacts that defied conventional documentation. While the expedition's official records indicate a tragic end due to exposure and illness, we have recently acquired evidence suggesting otherwise.

  The next paragraph caught her full attention:

  We have particular interest in your work on systematic absences in religious texts. Dr. Blackwood's last journal entries described temples that appeared on no maps, texts written in previously unknown scripts, and photographic evidence that challenges our understanding of the region's religious history. We believe your unique perspective on textual lacunae may illuminate aspects of these materials that others have... overlooked.

  The signature at the bottom - Dr. James Wainwright III - listed him as Director of Historical Reconciliation, though she couldn't recall having heard of such a department before.

  Sarah pulled her own research notes on the 1908 expedition. The facts were frustratingly inconsistent. Five scholars from Cambridge, led by Dr. Margaret Blackwood, had ventured into Inner Mongolia searching for evidence of pre-Buddhist religious practices. They had taken hundreds of photographs, filled dozens of journals, collected countless artifacts. And then, somewhere near the Gurvan Saikhan Mountains, the expedition had simply... stopped. No bodies were ever found. The equipment, when recovered, was in perfect condition, as if carefully arranged to be discovered. The photographs showed empty landscapes. The journals contained detailed observations of temple complexes that no subsequent expedition had managed to locate.

  "Dr. Chen?"

  The voice startled her. Professor Williams - she recognised the distinctive silver-tipped cane before looking up. Her prosopagnosia made every face a blank canvas, but she'd learned to work around it. Williams was the department's resident expert on Central Asian archaeology, and one of the few people who took her research seriously.

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  "Come in," she said, gesturing to the only chair not supporting a precise arrangement of documents.

  He settled into the chair, glancing at her walls. "Still working on those pattern correlations? Is that the Sanskrit text you mentioned, the one with the missing ritual step?" He leaned forward, studying the connections she'd mapped. "Fascinating how it lines up with those Han dynasty temple inventories. Both missing exactly seven items, centuries and cultures apart."

  "The gaps align," she said. "I've found similar patterns across multiple traditions. Things that should be there, but aren't. Like the missing photographs from the Blackwood Expedition - every catalogue lists them, but no one can find them."

  "Ah, Blackwood." He nodded. "I did my doctoral work on her expedition, you know. Brilliant archaeologist. Her theories about pre-Buddhist sites in the Gobi were well ahead of her time. Though that final expedition..." He frowned slightly. "I've always found it odd how many of the original documents seem to have been misplaced. The official report feels... incomplete."

  "What do you remember about their final location? The Gurvan Saikhan site?"

  "That's the strange thing. I wrote an entire chapter about it, but..." He blinked, looking confused. "I can't quite... The details seem..." He glanced at his watch. "Oh. I should go. Papers to grade." He stood, leaning on his cane. "But do keep me updated on your work. Particularly if you find anything new about Blackwood."

  After he left, Sarah opened her journal of absences. The leather binding felt cool beneath her fingers. She wrote:

  Professor Williams' reaction to the Gurvan Saikhan site matches a pattern I've observed: people seem to forget specific details about certain locations, texts, and artifacts. Not everything - just particular pieces, as if someone is systematically removing individual elements rather than whole events.

  The letter caught her eye again. A detail she'd missed earlier:

  We've also located what appears to be Dr. Blackwood's personal diary. Of particular interest is her final entry, dated three days after the expedition's supposed end: "The locals speak of temples that appear only at certain hours, and of texts that can only be read in moonlight. We've found something unprecedented, though I fear our conventional methods of documentation may prove inadequate. Tomorrow we attempt to—" The rest is illegible, though the paper shows no signs of damage.

  Her phone vibrated with a text from an unfamiliar number:

  Your paper on textual lacunae has attracted attention. There are those who understand what it means to study absences. Dr. Blackwood did.

  Sarah hesitated, then typed: Who is this?

  The response came immediately: Marcus Pierce, University Archives. Your work on the Dunhuang manuscript gaps - it matches patterns I've found in other collections. Things that should be there, but aren't.

  Typing again without delay: How did you get this number?

  Department directory. Though you might notice your entry is partially blank. Meet me at the Archive Reading Room tomorrow at 3. Ask for the Blackwood materials - I've already filed the access request.

  When Sarah looked back at the letter, she noticed the signature had changed slightly. Where it had read "Director of Historical Reconciliation," it now appeared to say "Director of Discontinued Records." She might have attributed this to fatigue, except that she'd made a point of noting the exact title in her research journal. When she checked her notes, she found that entry curiously smudged.

  She reached for the Cambridge letter again. The paper felt cool beneath her touch.

  Brows furrowed, she wrote her response, accepting the invitation to join the project. After dropping the letter in the post, she returned to her office and heaved herself into her chair. She glanced up at her wall of red strings - something about their pattern today nagged at her. The way they intersected in the upper right corner almost suggested a crown, though she was sure she hadn't arranged them that way.

  Probably just her tired mind finding patterns where none existed.

  Just kidding, that means I made continuity edits.