The Pale Protocol
The letter was short. It was written in blue ink on the heavy, cream-colored paper of the firm. It sat on the desk. Thomas stared at it. The office smelled of coal dust and old varnish. Rain tapped against the window. It was a cold Tuesday. The year was 1912. Thomas folded the paper. He put it in his pocket. He looked at the door. It was locked. He had been here for three days. No food. No...
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