The Pale Verdict
You are standing in the center of the atrium of the Blackwood Municipal Hall, a structure of such imposing, silent grandeur that it seems less a building of brick and mortar and more a monolith carved from the compressed regrets of the city itself, and the air around you is thick with the metallic taste of ozone and the faint, cloying scent of old dust that has been disturbed by the violent...
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