The Faded Frontier
The ink bled into the grain of the oak desk, a slow, dark tide that consumed the parchment before it could even dry, turning the careful, looping script of the ledger into a bruised and shapeless stain, while young Thomas Ashworth, who had been no older than ten when the first smudge appeared on his father’s books, now stood with his hands pressed flat against the cold wood, feeling the...
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