The Wistful Crossroads
The letter lay on the table, its paper thin and gray, the ink smudged where a thumb had pressed too hard. Elias read it three times, the words blurring into a single, damning line: *Item 4, Silver Cufflinks, Confiscated for Non-Compliance.* He folded the paper, the creases sharp against his fingers, and looked up at the council chamber. The light from the high windows was pale, filtering...
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