The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-19 05:59:35 -

The Pale Protocol

The rain against the high, arched windows of the White House was not merely weather; it was a rhythmic erasure, a static hiss that seemed to scrub the color from the world outside, leaving only the gray slate of the Washington skyline and the heavy, oppressive weight of the day. Margaret sat in the corner of the Oval Office, her hands folded tightly in her lap, the leather of her gloves...

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