The Distant Summer
The invoice for the structural assessment was four hundred pounds, a sum that made Elara’s hands tremble as she signed the check. The checkbook was Julian’s, the ink still wet with the memory of his signature, and the weight of the pen in her fingers felt heavier than the oak desk it rested upon. Blackwood Hall did not look at her; it merely stood, a rotting carcass of stone and timber that...
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