The Golden Suspect
The ink bled red again. It was the third time this morning, and the stain on the parchment looked less like a pigment error and more like a fresh wound in the paper. I wiped my thumb across the map of the Shifting Veil, but the red only smeared, spreading into the coastline I had spent six weeks defining. The Guild contract was due in three days. If I did not deliver a chart that accounted for...
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