The Pale Fracture
The banquet hall of the Sector Twelve Administrative Hub was a cavern of polished obsidian and cold, sterile light, designed to impress through its sheer, oppressive scale. At the head of the long, curved table sat High Commissioner Elias Thorne, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the room with the detached precision of a predator assessing the terrain. Beside him, in a chair that seemed too...
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