The Pale Verdict
The ledger weighed four pounds, a slab of bound leather that smelled of damp earth and old ink. Silas Vane counted the entries in his head, the numbers cold and sharp as flint against his memory, while the magistrate’s gavel thudded against the wooden block on the desk before him. The courtroom was a low-ceilinged box of stone, the air thick with the scent of wet wool and the metallic tang of...
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