The Distant Clue
The ink is still wet on the page, a glossy black smear that refuses to dry, and you know with a certainty that settles in the marrow of your bones that this is the final night the Blackwood Printing House will stand as it was. You are Elias Thorne, twelve years old, an apprentice with calluses on your palms that are older than your understanding of the world, and you want to finish the master’s...
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