The Pale Echo
"I told you the ledger is in the safe, Arthur. I told you it is not in the desk." The voice was dry, scraping against the silence of the mill office like a rat in the walls. Silas stood by the window, his back to the room, watching the gray November light bleed through the grime-streaked glass. He did not turn. Arthur Vane, thirty-two and sharp enough to cut a diamond, felt the familiar heat of...
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