The Pale Protocol
The ink smudged on the second page, a dark bruise that refused to dry, just as my hand refused to stop trembling. I am writing this by the light of a single candle, the flame low and sputtering in the draft that sneaks through the warped doorframe of my study. Outside, the rain has been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that has turned the cobblestones of Ashworth into a mirror...
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