The heavy freight engine roared along the narrow, shelf-cut line of the upper granite pass, its iron wheels screaming against the frost-coated rails. A freezing mountain gale tore through the open gangway of the cab, carrying the sharp scent of raw sulfur smoke, hot machine oil, and crushed pine. Five hundred feet below, the river basin was an endless sea of swirling white fog, but up on the high ridge, the winter sun struck the sharp rock faces like cold steel.
Elara stood beside the coal bunker, her charcoal coat pulled tight against the bitter wind, her grey eyes fixed on the ribbon of track unwinding into the mountain ahead. In her hands, she held the zinc-plated tray containing the master paper ledger—the physical titles backed by the iron-gall watermark that held the continental sovereign debt.
