The Pale Altar
The ledger lay open on the desk, its pages stiff with age and the particular dust of a place that had forgotten how to spend money. "Zero," the Mayor said, tapping the final column with a finger that trembled slightly, not from age but from the effort of keeping his face still. "That is the sum of our coffers, Elias. And that is the sum of your pension." I looked at the number, then at him. The...
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