The Wistful Skyline
The deed of sale lay on the kitchen table, the ink still wet, smelling faintly of iron and vinegar. It was a thin sheet of paper, lighter than the leather-bound ledger Elias had left beside it, a ledger whose columns of red figures now stretched out before him like a map of a territory he had already lost. Mara stood by the door, her hands wrapped around the strap of a single suitcase, her face...
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