The Distant Whispers
The ledger in the basement weighed four pounds, a heavy, leather-bound thing that smelled of damp earth and old sweat, the kind of scent that clings to the lining of a coat you have worn for too long. Elias counted the pages, one hundred and forty-two in total, each one filled with his father’s cramped, slanting handwriting, a script that had once been neat but had deteriorated into a jagged...
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