The Pale Verdict
The glass was cold against Elias Thorne’s cheek. It was the only thing in the room that felt real. The rest was a haze of amber light and the low, thrumming hum of the ventilation system, a sound that had long since become the background music of his existence. He sat in the center of the library’s restricted archive, a circular room with no windows, where the air was scrubbed clean of dust and...
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