The Pale Door
You arrive in the city of Ashenmere on a Tuesday, the sky the color of wet slate. The train has deposited you at the terminus, a monument of iron and soot that breathes steam into the freezing air. You are a detective, though you have not worn a badge in ten years. You carry a leather satchel, heavy with case files that no longer matter, and a coat that fits you poorly, its hem dragging on the...
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