The Pale Protocol
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the cobblestones of the alleyway into slick, black mirrors. I sat in the back of the carriage, my hands wrapped around a leather-bound journal, my fingers trembling not from the cold but from the sheer, exhausting weight of the silence I had carried for so long. The carriage...
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