The Pale Tower
The ledger sat on the kitchen table, its spine cracked from the damp, listing the arithmetic of ruin in a column of red ink: forty-two pounds for the roof, twelve for the coal, and the principal, a sum so large it blurred into a single, terrifying zero. Elias Thorne, Sergeant of the night watch at the ironworks, counted the hours of the shift ahead rather than the coins in his pocket, a habit...
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