The Pale Bridge
The inspection report lay open on the damp stone of the bridge, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, smelling of wet wool and old iron. Elias Thorne adjusted his grip on the leather satchel, his knuckles white against the cold, and scanned the line items: three crates of unlicensed opium, one forged transit pass, and a note of apology from the Ministry of Borders regarding the delayed...
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