The Distant Metropolis
The ink was warm. Mercedes Echevarria held the Ledger of Souls against the damp stone of the barracks, the pages humming with a low, wet vibration that she felt in her teeth. It was forty-seven of Stonecutter Alley, or so the scribe had claimed before he vanished, a place that did not exist on any map of the plateau, yet the book knew its way to her door. She needed to save Kael. He sat in the...
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