The Distant Threshold
The parchment was thin, translucent as onion skin, and it smelled of damp wool and old iron. You held it up to the candlelight, the wax seal broken, the ink smudged where your thumb had pressed too hard. It was a list. Not a menu, not a ledger, but a catalogue of debts. *One (1) detached shadow, Grade IV. One (1) breach of the Veil, Sector 9. One (1) inquisitor, Elias Thorne, status:...
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