The Wistful Incense
The ledger was open. You looked at the page, then at Vane, who stood by the window with his back to the room. The light from the streetlamps outside cut through the blinds, slicing the office into bars of grey and shadow. You were Elias Thorne, a senior customs inspector, and in twelve hours a tribunal would decide whether you were a criminal or a man. You wanted to clear your name. You wanted...
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