The Pale Bridge
"The decree is absolute," the overseer said, his voice flat as a sheet of hammered iron. "You will burn the ledger before the sun touches the ice." I stood in the flooded archive, the water already at my knees, cold and black as the ink it threatened to dissolve. The smell hit me first, a thick, cloying mixture of wet rot and the sharp, metallic tang of fear, before my eyes could adjust to the...
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