The Pale Fracture
"Cut it." The voice came from the dark. It was not a shout. It was a whisper that cut deeper than the blade. I stopped. My hand shook. The knife trembled in my grip. It was a small tool. Surgical. Precise. Made for the quiet work of endings. I held it up to the pale light filtering through the window. The steel caught the glow. It looked like a shard of ice. "Cut it," the voice said again. It...
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