The Distant Cartograph
The ink had not yet dried on the ledger, a thin black vein tracing the white paper, when Elias heard the footsteps. They were not the heavy, shuffling tread of the night watchman, nor the light, hurried pitter-patter of the apprentices clearing their desks at dawn. These steps were deliberate, measured, carrying a weight that seemed to press down on the floorboards of the municipal archive, a...
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