The Pale Fracture
The dream began with the smell of wet limestone and ozone, a scent that permeated the sterile, white-tiled corridors of the Ministry of Aesthetic Compliance, where the air was usually scrubbed clean of anything that could be called organic. Elias Thorne woke not with a gasp, but with a slow, heavy exhale, as if he had been holding his breath for the entirety of the night. He was lying in his...
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