The Distant Clue
The ink was under my fingernails, black and cold as dried blood, and no amount of scrubbing with the harsh lye soap in the archive’s utility room could lift it. I had spent three years chasing the Blackwood Ledger, a document that supposedly held the key to the pension fund that would save my career and clear the debts that were slowly strangling me, but now the pages themselves were erasing,...
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