The Pale Bridge
"You are late," Minister Lu said, his voice a dry rattle in the cold air of the archive, "and the ink is cold, which is a sign of either incompetence or treason, and I have always found it difficult to distinguish between the two when the ledger is wrong." I did not look up from the grain audit, my fingers trembling as I tried to steady the nib, the paper slick and damp beneath my palm, feeling...
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