The Pale Meridian
The ledger showed a deficit of forty-two pounds, a sum that felt less like a number and more like a physical weight pressing against Elias Thorne’s sternum. He stood in the center of the banquet hall, adjusting his cuffs, the silk of his shirt brushing against the rough, calloused skin of his hands. Thirty-two years old, and already the owner of a failing apothecary on the edge of bankruptcy....
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