The Pale Letter

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2026-08-19 01:13:57 -

The Pale Letter

The banquet hall of the Ministry of Interior smelled of roasted pheasant and stale perfume, a thick, cloying atmosphere that hung heavy in the air like a fog that would not lift. You sat at the head of the table, your uniform pressed to a razor’s edge, the brass buttons on your tunic reflecting the chandelier’s light in sharp, cold stars. Around you, the senior officers of the Special...

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