The Distant Ghost
The ink was still wet on the ledger, a black tear in the parchment that refused to dry, when Silas Thorne looked up from his desk and saw the woman standing in the doorway. She did not knock. She did not announce herself. She simply stood there, a silhouette cut from the grey fog that pressed against the high windows of the Ministry of Internal Security, her coat dripping a small, dark puddle...
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