The Distant Clue
The ink on the ledger page was still wet, a dark smear against the cream paper, but Elias Thorne did not look at it. He looked at his hands. They were stained to the wrist, the black dye seeping into the creases of his knuckles, turning the skin a bruised purple that would not wash out for days. It was the mark of a forger, a thief, a man who lived in the margins of the law in the sprawling...
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