The Pale Banner
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, persistent mist that coated the windows of the Sterling & Vance Compliance Bureau in a film of grey static. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, a space no larger than a coffin, and held the object in his hands. It was a simple thing, a pair of silk gloves, white as the bone of a winter bird, with a faint, iridescent sheen that seemed to...
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