The Pale Exile

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2026-08-18 01:15:49 -

The Pale Exile

The rain had a taste. Copper and rust. I spat it out onto the cracked pavement of 4th Street, watching it mix with the gray slush that coated the boots of the men who stood before me. They were not men, really. They were uniforms. Blue, stiff, smelling of wet wool and old sweat. I held my ledger. It was thin. It was light. It was the only thing I owned that was not a debt. "Sign here," the...

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