The Pale Protocol
The letter sat on the desk, its envelope unopened, a pale rectangle of silence against the dark wood. "Is it from him?" asked Elias. Margaret did not look up from the teacup in her hands. The steam rose in thin, wavering lines, dissolving into the cold air of the study. "I do not know," she said. "It has been here since Tuesday." Elias leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his...
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