The Distant Promise
The ledger held three hundred and twelve entries, each line a weight of ink that pressed down on the paper with the density of wet clay. Inspector Elias Thorne counted them again, his left hand resting on the mahogany table, the knuckles white against the dark wood. The Blackwood Asylum banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale beeswax, a rich, cloying scent that seemed to thicken the...
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