The Pale Tower
The ink on the ledger was still wet, glistening under the harsh gaslight that hummed in the corner like a trapped fly, and I stared at the signature of Arthur Vane, who had signed his own debt to the town with a flourish so arrogant it looked like a declaration of war, a stroke of black that cut through the parchment with the sharpness of a blade, and I thought to myself that this was it, this...
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