The Pale Protocol
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the world outside the window of the old farmhouse, turning the mud into a thick, sucking paste that seemed to pull at the boots of anyone foolish enough to step into it, and inside, the air was thick with the smell of damp wool and stale coffee, a scent that had settled into the very fibers of the...
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