The Pale Tale
The brass buttons on Elias Thorne’s tunic caught the flickering gaslight, reflecting a cold, industrial starlight that had no business existing in the damp, subterranean corridors of the Department. It was a uniform of severe grey wool, tailored to a precision that bordered on violence, and it was the only thing in the world that felt solid. Elias ran his thumb over the highest button, the one...
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