The Distant Clue
The ink on the ledgers bleeds when touched by guilt. This is not a rumor, nor a superstition passed down in the hallowed, dust-choked corridors of the Ministry of Records; it is a physical law, as immutable as gravity, and you know it because your hands are trembling as you open the first book of the dissolved Empire. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior archivist who has spent twenty...
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