The Distant Clue
I Antonio Vargas stood in the scriptorium, the smell of damp wool and old paper thick in his throat, while Minister Kael paced the stone floor with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man who owned the air itself. The ledger lay open between them, its pages heavy with the weight of a dynasty, and I watched the ink on the last line shimmer, a dark, wet sheen that did not match the dry, black...
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