The Pale Protocol
The ledger lay open on the desk, the ink still wet and heavy. Elara stared at the column of numbers, the debt to the wool merchant totaling forty-two pounds, a sum that felt like a stone in her throat. She reached for her quill, her hand trembling as it hovered over the paper. The tremor had started in the fingers, a fine, persistent shake that made the letters waver like reeds in a strong...
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