The Pale Tower
The letter lay on the kitchen table, its edges soft from handling, the ink of the debt notice smudged where Elias Thorne’s thumb had rested too long. It was a simple arithmetic problem, cold and final: the winter freeze was three weeks away, and the medical bills for his father’s final months had outgrown the value of the grain they had managed to salvage before the fog thickened. Elias rubbed...
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