The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-19 16:17:04 -

The Pale Meridian

The hall smelled of roasted pork and stale beer. It was the annual gala of the Ministry of Internal Records, a cavernous room of mahogany and brass where the air hung heavy with the scent of tobacco and the sweat of men who believed they were the backbone of the nation. Elias Thorne sat at the edge of the long table, his fingers tracing the rim of a glass he had not touched. He was a junior...

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