The Distant Clue
The ink was still wet on the ledger when the rain began to fall, a steady, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of the square into a mirror for the dying gaslight. You stood before the window, your fingers tracing the edge of the paper, feeling the texture of the debt like a bruise under the skin. The shop was silent, save for the ticking of the clock on the mantel, a mechanical heartbeat...
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