The Pale Fracture
The morning light in the Bureau of Civic Compliance did not shine; it filtered, a pale, sterile mist that turned the grey walls into a monolith of indifferent bureaucracy. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, a place that had once been a chair but had calcified, through years of repetitive motion and silent vigil, into a cage of ergonomic plastic and steel. He was a Senior Auditor, a title that...
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