The Pale Protocol
The letter lay on the table, its ink still damp, a dark bruise against the parchment, and old Elias watched it with the hollow patience of a man who has already accepted the verdict and is merely waiting for the executioner to raise the blade, for the air in the small, drafty room of the monastery was thick with the scent of burning tallow and the stale, metallic taste of fear that had settled...
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