The Distant Crown
The ledger book was not just a record; it was a mouth. It chewed on the silence of the office, digesting the days into a thick, gray paste that smelled of old paper and cold iron. Elias Thorne sat at the end of the long, mahogany desk, his hands folded neatly over the open pages, and watched the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that pierced the heavy velvet curtains. He was an...
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