The Pale Tower
The ledger was heavy, its leather cover cracked and stained with the damp rot of the cellar where it had lain for three years. Elias Thorne held it in his trembling hands, the weight of the paper feeling less like ink and more like the cold that had settled into his bones since his brother’s death. He was forty-two, a scholar of minor renown, and he was ruined. The Halloway estate, once a seat...
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