The Distant Blade
The ledger had three hundred and twelve pages, and Elias Thorne had repaired two hundred and forty of them. He sat in the basement archive, the air thick with the smell of decaying lignin and the metallic tang of the humidity control system that hummed just below the threshold of hearing. His hands, stained brown with the tannins of the old paper, moved with the precision of a surgeon, applying...
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