Mercer told no one about the whisper the following morning, uncertain whether exhaustion had simply conjured a trick of memory or whether something genuinely new had spoken within his mind. He went through his usual routine, council correspondence and warehouse reports, watching carefully for any further sign of the strange presence.
Nothing came. By midday, he'd nearly convinced himself the whole thing had been nothing more than a tired mind's echo of two years' habit.
Then, that evening, reviewing shipping manifests alone in his office, he heard it again.
*You felt relief too quickly, Mercer Vale.*
The voice carried no warmth, none of the careful, patient precision he'd grown accustomed to from the Ledger. This voice felt colder, more distant, as though speaking from somewhere consid
