The Distant Promise
The invoice for the structural reinforcement of the east wing lay on the desk, its ink smudged where Elias Thorne’s thumb had rested too long, the figures bleeding into a black bruise that looked less like a mistake and more like a wound. He stared at the total, a sum that would require three years of donations to clear, while the clock on the wall ticked with a wet, heavy rhythm that seemed to...
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