The Wistful Atlas
The ledger lay open on the desk, its spine cracked like a dry riverbed, and the ink within it did not behave as ink should. Elias Vane stared at the page, his breath held tight in his chest, feeling the cold draft of the Ministry corridor seep through the windowpane and settle against the back of his neck. He had woken again from the dream of shattered glass, the shards singing a high, thin...
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