The Faded Road
"You’re sure it’s fraud? Not just bad practice?" Elias Thorne did not look up from the ledger. The ink was wet, glistening under the gaslight. He smelled the room before he saw it: a heavy, cloying sweetness, like overripe pears left in a bucket for too long, underlaid with the sharp, metallic tang of old blood. It was the smell of the apothecary’s shop, seeping through the floorboards of the...
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