The Faded Apartment
The ink on the ledger page was still wet, glistening under the gaslight like a fresh wound, when Halloway spoke without looking up from his own desk. "You are working too slowly, Mr. Vane." Arthur did not look up. His fingers, stained to the second knuckle with indigo dye, hovered over the column of figures. He knew the rhythm of the room better than his own heartbeat: the scratch of Halloway’s...
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