The Distant Temple
Chapter One Every ledger is a lie that agrees with itself, a truth that Luis Yanes, twelve years old and standing on a chair in the boiler room of the Porto docks, had learned by the time the first snow closed the road to the mainland. The air was gritty with rust and the damp wool of his coat, and in his left hand he held a glyph, a square of paper that pulsed with a heat so specific it felt...
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