The Faded Paradox
The ledger held three hundred and twelve entries. Each one a name, a date, a debt paid in memory. Silas counted them again, his finger tracing the ink until the paper felt thin as skin. He was an Inquisitor of the Second Order, a man who weighed sins like grain, and for three years he had been hunting a thief who stole the last thoughts of the dying. The thief was called the Shadow, and the...
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