The Pale Verdict
The ink on the page was not brown, Elias Thorne noted, but a bruised violet that deepened as he traced the line with his finger, a color that should not have existed in a ledger bound in oiled calfskin. He looked up, his breath held in the back of his throat, waiting for the Archivist to enter, but the door remained shut, the only sound in the room the tick of the clock and the distant,...
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