The Wistful Incense
The ledger is not what you think it is, Elias. Director Halloway did not look up from his desk. He sat behind a mahogany surface worn smooth by decades of elbows and ink, the wood a dull, matte brown that absorbed the weak afternoon light filtering through the blinds. The air in the office was still, thick with the dry, acrid scent of stale tobacco and the faint, chemical tang of old paper....
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