The Pale Tower
The ink was still wet on the form when the courier’s boot scuffed the mud against the doorframe, and I looked up from the ledger to find him staring at me with that particular, hollow patience that only men who have never held a shovel in their lives seem to possess. "Warden Ashworth," he said, his voice smooth as polished river stone, "the Council requires your signature on the annex regarding...
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