The Wistful Dinner
The ink on the ledger page was wet, though the pen had been put away an hour ago. Elias Thorne held the quill between his thumb and forefinger, the nib hovering a millimeter above the vellum, watching the letters of the date *October 14, 1892* smear and bleed into a dark, viscous pool that spelled out *Thief*. He did not flinch. He adjusted his spectacles, the brass rims cool against his...
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