The Pale Fracture
The fluorescent lights of the Sector 4 processing room hummed a low, electric note that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias’s bones. He sat at the desk, his hands folded on the cold surface, watching the dust motes dance in the harsh white beam that cut through the stagnant air. Across from him, Margaret Holloway’s reflection stared back from the darkened monitor, a ghostly duplicate of...
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