The Wistful Witness
You are standing in the rain. The cold is a physical weight, pressing against your shoulders, seeping into the wool of your tunic. You are the Captain. You hold the ledger. The book is leather-bound, worn soft by years of handling, its pages swollen with the damp of a century that refuses to dry out. It is not a record of names. It is a record of debts. And you are the creditor. The house is...
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