The Pale Tower
The ledger lay open on the oak desk, its pages yellowed with a dampness that smelled of old rain and iron, and Elias Thorne stared at the handwriting until the letters blurred into a single, trembling line. He had spent three years in the archives of Oakhaven, a town where the fog rolled in from the estuary every morning like a burial shroud, hunting for the evidence that would prove the...
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