The Distant Blade
The pen tip scratched against the paper, a dry, frictional sound that seemed to vibrate up through the bone of my wrist. I was forty-two years old, and my hands were steady, trained by twenty years of holding the weight of men’s lives in the balance of ink and parchment. I was Elias Thorne, Senior Inspector at the Ironworks Bureau, and I was signing the final report on the 1912 collapse. The...
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