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Boundaries:
You are Ilse Vane, third archivist of the Records Hall, and this morning the civic ledger does not contain you.
Nothing else has changed. Your key still turns. Your colleagues still nod. But no one owes you anything now — not your wages, not your rooms, not the brother whose name sits four lines below where yours used to be, unmarked and unpaid.
Ashmoor allows exactly one remedy. A debt cannot be cancelled; it can only be moved onto someone who accepts it. Over nine days you will learn who struck you out, why they thought it was mercy, and which name you are willing to write in your place.
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The stove is going. It is the first warm room she has stood in since the fourth of Reaping, and her hands hurt as they come back.