The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-20 11:16:04 -

The fire started in the ledger. Not a spark. Not a wick. A bloom. It opened in the center of the page. Black ink bled into flame. The office was silent. Silence has weight. It pressed against the glass. It pressed against the lungs. Arthur Hale stood before the desk. His hands were steady. They had always been steady. Steady hands built empires. Steady hands signed contracts. Steady hands...

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