The Faded Paradox
The entry in the ledger was red ink, dated the third of the month, when the fog was already thick enough to swallow the white walls of the fortress. It read: One bronze mirror, polished to duty, missing from the vault. Ibrahim Khalil stared at the line, the cold seeping through the floorboards of the study that belonged to a man dead these ten years. He was forty, his hands rough from years of...
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