The Distant Metropolis
The ink is still wet on the ledger when the men in the grey coats enter the study, their footsteps a dry, rhythmic crackle against the old oak floorboards that have held the weight of this house for three generations. You do not look up from the page, where the names of the town’s families are inscribed in a script so fine it seems to dissolve into the parchment, because you know that if you...
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