The Wistful Dinner
The ink was still wet on the parchment when I realized my hand was trembling, the quill scratching a jagged line across the official seal of the Order of the Silver Veil, a small, accidental mark that felt heavier than the iron gate of the Citadel itself. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior inquisitor who has spent two decades enforcing the doctrine that blood guilt is hereditary,...
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