The Faded Chronicle
The letter from the Ministry of Internal Affairs lay on the mahogany desk, its wax seal broken, the ink still faintly damp with the humidity of the carriage ride. Elias Thorne read the directive for the third time, his eyes tracing the jagged handwriting of the clerk who had drafted it: audit the Blackwood estate, verify the payroll of the private militia, and secure the pension fund for the...
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