The Distant Ghost
The ledger was open on the desk, the ink still wet, and Elias Thorne could smell the copper tang of it before he even looked up from his spreadsheets. "Elias," Mara said, her voice thin against the heavy silence of the study. She stood in the doorway, holding a mug that had gone cold, the ceramic handle chipped in a way that matched the crack forming in the plaster above his head. "You missed...
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