The Pale Circus

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2026-08-20 16:01:15 -

The Pale Circus

The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed a steady, hollow rhythm against the oak shutters of the guardhouse. It was a sound like knuckles on a door. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool and old paper. Commander Elias Thorne sat at his desk. He did not move. He watched the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that pierced the gloom. His hand rested on the hilt...

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