The Pale Protocol
The ink in the well had been black for forty years, yet it was the silence of the town of Oakhaven that had truly settled into the bones of the earth, a heavy, industrial sludge that coated the lungs of every soul who breathed its damp, coal-choked air, and it was on the night of the annual Founders Day banquet, a celebration of the steel mills that had birthed and sustained the community, that...
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