The Distant Promise
The ledger weighed four pounds, three ounces, and a secret. I set it on the workbench in the mill office, the wood grain rough under my fingertips, and checked the time. It was 1893, and the clock on the wall ticked with the heavy, mechanical precision of a thing that owed no one an explanation. Dr. Silas Vane had been dead for three weeks, and I, Elias Thorne, was here to catalog the estate,...
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