The Pale Circus
The ledger lay open on the cold iron table, its pages slick with a substance that was not quite ink. Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old and hollowed by sleepless nights, traced the line of his own name. It was listed under "Theft of Corporate Assets." The date was tomorrow. He had not stolen anything, yet the script moved, the letters rearranging themselves with a wet, deliberate slither,...
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