The Distant Blade
The ink had not yet dried when the vibration began, a low, grinding thrum that started in the floorboards and traveled up through the soles of Elias’s boots, settling heavily in the molars. "Your hand is shaking, Elias." Clara’s voice was dry as the autumn dust that coated the ledger’s pages. "A clerk who trembles before a balance sheet is a clerk who has already failed. Do you hear the...
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