The Pale Protocol
The watch sat on the table. It was a heavy thing. Black enamel. Cold to the touch. I held it. My fingers were steady. They had been steady for forty years. I was a man of procedure. A man of silence. The room was quiet. Too quiet. The clock on the wall ticked. It was a loud sound. It filled the space. It was the only thing moving. I looked at the watch. The face was cracked. A single fracture....
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