The Faded Dust
The ledger had forty-two pages, and Elias Thorne had counted every single one twice. He sat in the back of the hired carriage, his hands wrapped around a thermos of black tea that had gone cold three miles ago. The fog outside was not merely weather; it was a substance, thick and grey, pressing against the glass with a damp, persistent weight. Oakhaven was a village that existed in the margins...
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