The Wistful Saga
The ledger was heavy, bound in cracked leather that smelled of damp wool and old iron. Arthur Vane held it in his hands, the weight of it pressing against his palms, a physical anchor to a world that was rapidly losing its grip on sanity. He was thirty years old, a junior clerk at the Sterling Mill, and for the first time in his life, he felt the solid, cold certainty of being right. The water...
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