The Pale Fracture
The steam hisses through the copper valves of the pneumatic tube system with a sound that resembles the exhale of a dying god, a long, shuddering breath that carries the weight of every secret ever sealed in the lead-lined walls of the Department of Cognitive Regulation, and as you stand before the great mahogany desk of Director Whitmore, your hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer,...
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