The Pale Path
The ink on the ledger was not dry, but it was black. It was the color of the coal dust that coated the teeth of the men in the lower barracks, a soot that had worked its way into the pores of their skin, into the weave of their shirts, into the very air they breathed. Silas stood before the desk, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling the rough grain of the wood through the soles of his...
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