The Distant Journey
The vial is heavy in your left hand, a cold weight of glass and iron that contrasts sharply with the tremor in your right, the hand that holds the quill. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior inquisitor in the Order of the Silent Ledger, and the morning light from the high windows cuts across your desk, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the still air like suspended judgments. You...
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