The Faded Root
The ink was wet. That was the first thing I noticed, the viscosity of the black fluid pooling in the crease of the parchment as I pressed my thumb against the corner of the deed. It was not dry. It had been fresh for twenty minutes, perhaps longer, but it had not set. Kael stood behind me, his hands in the pockets of his cheap wool coat, watching my hand with a patience that felt like a held...
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