The Pale Meridian
The ledger lay open on the desk, its pages yellowed by the damp of the cellar where it had been stored, and Elias Thorne read the figures again, his breath held in the cold air of the room as the light from the single gas jet flickered and died, leaving him in a darkness that felt less like an absence of light and more like a presence, a heavy, suffocating weight that pressed against his...
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