The Faded Quadrant
The lamp oil was running low, and the flame sputtered against the glass, casting a jagged shadow across the ledger. "Sign it, Hina Suzuki. The error is in the count, not the cloth." Chapter One Hina Suzuki woke with the taste of iron in her mouth, the dream of the dissolving boundary line still clinging to her eyelids like wet silk. The room was cramped, smelling of damp wool and the stale...
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