The Distant Summer
The ink was black and thick, pooling in the well of the steel pen Elias held. He stared at the drop, watching it swell until it threatened to break the surface tension, then he pressed the nib to the ledger. The paper was crisp, a stark white against the dull gray of the desk. It was 1924, and the city of Harrowgate sat under a fog so dense it felt like wool pressed against the glass. Elias...
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