The Wistful Dinner
The winter solstice hung low over Oakhaven, a pale coin of sun trapped behind the walled city’s highest battlements. Elias Thorne, a clerk of thirty-two years and twelve months in the Duke’s ledger office, walked the cobblestone streets with his head bowed. He carried the tax ledgers, bound in oiled leather, against his chest. The weight of them was a comfort, a physical proof of his integrity....
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