The Pale Fracture
The air in the Department of Anomalous Containment smells of ozone and stale coffee, a scent that has seeped into the very fibers of your wool suit until you cannot distinguish your own skin from the fabric. You are Marcus Thorne, Senior Archivist, and you have been here for eleven years. You do not speak often. Your colleagues, the men in the grey blazers who move with the frantic energy of...
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