The Distant Clue
The iron-bound ledger lay open on the stone table, its pages thick with the ink-stained debts of Oakhaven, and I, Sir Elias Thorne, constable for forty years, sat in the suffocating silence of my chamber, my fingers tracing the cold, bureaucratic stamp of the Sheriff’s office that declared the theft of the Lord’s silver proven by nothing more than customary suspicion, a prejudice so rigid it...
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