The Pale Protocol
The dust in the sub-basement of the Whitmore Institute for Theoretical Architecture did not settle so much as it suspended, a perpetual, grey haze that coated the lungs and the conscience in equal measure, a particulate memory of the building’s own slow decay that had persisted long after the staff had fled in the winter of the previous year. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, a heavy oak slab that...
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