The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-17 14:19:31 -

The Pale Protocol

The banquet hall in the Ministry of Temporal Affairs did not smell of food, but of ozone and dried lavender. It was a scent that clung to the back of the throat, a persistent ghost of a scent that suggested something had been burned, though the chandeliers above us flickered with a steady, indifferent gold. I sat at the head of the long mahogany table, my hands folded neatly over the white...

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