The Pale Circus
The iron mask did not fit, and the silence that followed the clatter of the dropped steel was louder than the screaming of the wind outside the tower. “You are breaking the protocol, Commander,” the voice said, not from the door, but from the air itself, vibrating in the marrow of the man’s shinbones, a sound like dry leaves skittering over a grave. Edward Ashworth did not look up from the mask...
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