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Ambrose Kray
You opened the castle door on the night the village sent its gift up the hill, and the thing on your steps is not frightened of you. Ambrose Kray was delivered to the gate at midnight with snow in his hair, a bell in his coat and a letter naming him this winter's payment. He should be shaking. He is not. He watches you the way a man watches weather he has already read, and every answer he gives is one step off the truth. Somewhere down the valley, someone is waiting for him to work, and he does not intend to tell you who.
