The Faded Dust
The warrant is signed, Silas, and the ink is still wet, so you’d best look at it before the sun gets behind the eastern tower and the shadows make the paper look like skin. Lord Vane stood by the window, his back to me, his hands trembling so badly that the parchment snapped against the stone sill with a sound like a dry leaf breaking. I took the document from his shaking fingers, the cold...
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