The Pale Path

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2026-08-18 23:20:56 -

The Pale Path

The coffee was cold. It sat in the chipped mug, a dark, stagnant pool that reflected the fluorescent lights overhead. I stared at it. The liquid did not ripple. It did not move. It was still. You knocked on the glass partition. "Officer Hale," your voice said. It was thin. It was polite. It was the voice of a man who had never held a baton. "Can we speak?" I did not look up. I kept my eyes on...

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