The Pale Protocol
The ink was still wet on the final page of the ledger, a dark, viscous smear that looked less like a number and more like a wound in the paper, and I sat in the high-backed chair behind the massive oak desk in the library of the house, listening to the muffled, rhythmic thud of the rain against the leaded windows which seemed to be trying to break their way into our world to wash away the stain...
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