The Golden Scar
The quill snapped against the parchment, a sharp crack that echoed in the high vaulted ceiling of the Chancery. I did not flinch. I kept my eyes on the Chancellor’s face, which was pale and tight with a rage that looked like a bruise spreading under the skin. "You speak of forgery," I said, my voice low and steady, though my hands shook inside my sleeves. "I speak of the debt. My mother’s debt....
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