The Pale Tower
The letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet and smelling faintly of iron, a bureaucratic blade laid flat against the grain of the mahogany. Elias Thorne read it twice, his fingers trembling not from cold, but from the sudden, sharp pressure in his chest that felt less like fear and more like the physical weight of a debt coming due. It was a retraction notice, or rather, a preliminary inquiry...
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