The Golden Echoes
The ink was gold. That was the problem. "You can’t just write on the budget forms, Elias," Halloway said. He did not look up from the paper. He was a large man, taking up most of the office space, and the air in the room was thick with the smell of stale coffee and damp wool. It was November, and the cold was getting into the walls of the town hall. It sat in the floorboards and made the old...
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