The Golden Mirror
The ledger had forty-two pages of unaccounted discrepancies, a number that tasted like copper in Elias Thorne’s mouth, and he counted them three times before the clock in the hallway struck the hour, each chime a heavy, wet thud that seemed to sink into the floorboards of Blackwood Manor. He was thirty-two, an archivist of modest ambition and precise arithmetic, and he had traveled four hundred...
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