The Wistful Dinner
Vane, you’re making a mess of the ledger again, Halloway said, his voice flat and dry as the dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun that cut through the high, arched windows of the Thorne Estate office. I didn’t look up from the column of figures, my pen scratching a rhythmic, anxious beat against the paper, the sound the only thing that felt real in the room where the air had turned...
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