The Wistful Mountain
The ledger lay open on the iron desk, its pages stiff with the dust of a thousand unpaid debts. Elias Vane stood before the Foreman, his hands trembling not from fear but from the weight of the object in his pocket. It was a pocket watch, brass-cased, its face white as bone. The second hand ticked backward. "Three hundred pounds," the Foreman said, not looking up. His voice was the sound of a...
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