The Faded Sutra
The water-stained ledger lay open on the stone floor of the St. Jude’s Chapel basement, its pages swollen with the damp that had seeped through the cracked foundation for the better part of a century, and Elias Thorne, forty-five years old and shivering in a wool coat that had seen better decades, stared at the columns of figures with the dawning horror of a man who has just realized he is...
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