The Faded Chronicle

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2026-08-23 09:14:28 -

The Grey was coming in thick by dawn, a soup of ash and cold that smelled of wet wool and old iron. "You’ll drop it, Silas," Halloway said, his voice thin against the wind. "The ledger. You’ll drop it and they’ll say you were drunk." I checked the laces on my boots, the leather stiff with the damp. My left hand trembled, a fine, persistent shiver that had started three months ago and refused to...

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