The Golden Farce
The ledger held three hundred and twelve entries, each one a small, dry death. Elias Thorne counted them with a finger that felt too thick for the task, the paper rough against his skin. He was thirty-four, a court clerk in the District of Highbridge, and his spine had not bent in six years. He wanted his pension. He wanted the judge to fall. The gold signet ring on his left hand pulsed, a low,...
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