The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-20 07:36:05 -

The Pale Meridian

The air in the town hall smelled of damp wool and stale tobacco. It was a thick, suffocating scent that clung to the back of the throat. Silas Vane stood near the radiator. The iron pipes clanked. Steam hissed through the vents. It was a sharp, aggressive sound. He did not look at the crowd. He looked at the floor. The wood was scarred. Decades of boots had worn grooves into the planks. He knew...

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