The Wistful Crossroads
Elias. The name hung in the air of the ledger room, heavy and sharp, spoken by Lord Vane as if it were a stain on the carpet. I looked up from the column of inked figures, my pen still hovering, the nib trembling slightly. The light in the room was thin, a pale grey sheet filtering through the high, dusty windows, catching the motes that danced in the still air. Vane stood by the door, his...
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