The Pale Protocol
The ink was still wet on the parchment when the first shadow detached itself from the wall, a long, thin thing that did not belong to any candle. Thomas Ashworth did not startle. He had come to the Citadel of Oram with his mind already stripped of its familiar certainties, leaving only the bare, humming wire of his intellect exposed to the cold. He was a scholar of the old laws, a keeper of the...
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