The Pale Tower

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2026-08-18 21:18:50 -

The Pale Tower

The rain in London did not fall; it hovered, a suspended gray mist that clung to the wet wool of coats and the brass fittings of the carriage doors. Arthur Penhaligon stood on the platform at King’s Cross, his hand resting on the cold hilt of his service revolver, though the weapon was holstered and the threat was merely bureaucratic. He was a man of precise angles, a former naval officer...

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