The Pale Verdict
The fire in the undercroft did not roar; it hissed, a low, wet sound like a dying animal. Alderman Silas Vane stood before the hearth, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the violation of protocol. He was a man of letters, of catalogues, of the quiet dignity of the archive, and yet here he was, stripped of his authority, stripped of his robes, stripped of everything that had defined...
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