The Distant Ghost
The pen hovered over the page, the nib scratching a dry, abrasive sound against the paper as if it were trying to carve the ink into the grain of the wood beneath. "You’re still holding that, I see," Julian said, his voice thin and papery, echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling of the study where the air smelled of lemon oil and old dust. "That silver thing. It’s not worth the trouble, Elara....
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