The Pale Shadows
You are holding the ledger, and the weight of it is wrong. It is too heavy for a book of paper, a dense, leaden mass that pulls at your wrists as you turn the pages. The fluorescent lights in the municipal archive hum a low, sick note, a sound that vibrates in your teeth. Outside, the November wind screams against the brick, but in here, the air is still and smells of dust and old glue. You are...
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