The Pale Altar

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2026-08-18 01:12:06 -

The Pale Altar

The morning began with the smell of wet wool and old coffee. Thomas Ashworth stood by the window of his office on the fourth floor, watching the rain slide down the glass. It was a gray Tuesday. The kind of day that makes you want to stay in bed. He adjusted his tie. It was silk. Navy blue. It felt tight against his throat. Across the desk sat Miller. Miller was a good man. He had worked with...

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