The Pale Banner
The coat was red. Not the deep, arterial red of blood, but a bright, screaming crimson that seemed to vibrate against the gray sky of the alley. Elias stood still. His hands were shaking. He held the coat in his left hand. It was heavy. It smelled of iron and rain. "Leave it," said Marcus. He was tall. He wore a trench coat. It was black. It was wet. "Leave it and walk away, Elias." Elias did...
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