The Distant Crown
The ledger weighed four pounds, two ounces. Elias Thorne held it up against the gray light of the barracks, counting the stitches in his own sleeve to keep his mind off the burning on his hand. It was a small heat, no bigger than a coin, but it sat under the skin like a coal that refused to die. He had twenty years of service. Twenty years of mud, of broken bones, of keeping order in places...
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