The Pale Tower

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2026-08-17 12:12:05 -

The Pale Tower

The rain against the window of the intake office was not a sound so much as a texture, a persistent, wet friction that Elias Vane had come to associate with the taste of copper in his mouth. He sat at the heavy oak desk, the wood worn smooth by decades of anxious hands and trembling elbows, and watched the clock tick with a mechanical indifference that felt personally offensive. The room was a...

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