The Pale Protocol
The letter arrived in a brown envelope, the paper so thin and brittle it felt like the skin of a dried leaf, and when Elias Thorne opened it on the cold iron bench of the waiting room, the scent of stale antiseptic and wet wool that permeated the clinic seemed to thicken around him, a physical weight that pressed against his lungs as he read the words written in the cramped, familiar script of...
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