The Pale Protocol
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray sheet that blurred the boundaries between the cobblestone streets of Harrowgate and the sky above, creating a monolithic gray void in which the town seemed to be slowly dissolving. Elias Thorne sat in his study, the only window open to the drizzle, his hands resting on the worn leather spine of a codex that had been in the family for...
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