The Pale Protocol
The coal dust in the air of Sector Four is not merely gray; it is a living thing, a suspension of fine soot that coats the back of the tongue with a taste of burnt iron and old grief. I write this by the flickering light of a gas lamp, my hand steady despite the tremor in my left wrist, a souvenir from the Incident at the Ashgate Station. I am Captain Elias Thorne of the Bureau of Civic Order,...
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