The Pale Letter
The ledger in Elias Thorne’s hands weighed as much as the iron keys he carried in his coat pocket, a cold, heavy rectangle of paper that had absorbed the last of his body heat over the past three weeks. He counted the pages not by number, but by the dull ache in his fingers, each flip a small, mechanical effort against the fog that clung to the floor of the Grand Archive like damp wool....
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