The Faded River
Ledger Entry 402: Silk, raw, twelve bolts. Deduction: Censor’s fee, one-tenth. The dust in the archive tasted of iron and old wool. Fatemeh Rezaei, twelve years old and shaking with a hunger that had nothing to do with food, pressed the crumbling ledger against her chest. The binding was soft from wear, the leather slick under her palms. She had come here to prove her father’s loyalty, to save...
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