The Golden Crossing
The ledger had three hundred and twelve pages, each one weighed down by the heavy, iron-bound clamps that the Bureau used to keep the paper flat against the rotting oak desks, and Elias counted them three times before the ink in his pen began to smear from the humidity of the room. He was twelve years old, the son of a clerk who had vanished into the grey fog of the city’s lower districts six...
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