The Pale Meridian
The invoice lay on the kitchen table, its corners curling slightly in the damp air. Elias Thorne held it between his thumb and forefinger, the paper thin as onion skin, the numbers in bold black ink staring back at him. It was a simple document, a record of a transaction for office supplies that had never occurred, yet the weight of it pressed against his palm like a hot coal. Outside, the wind...
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