The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 23:24:25 -

The Pale Altar

The train cut through the fog like a silver scalpel. Marcus sat by the window. The glass was cold. His breath misted it. He wiped it away. The view returned. Gray fields. Dead trees. The town of Oakhaven approached. It was small. It was quiet. It was his destination. He was a data auditor. He checked numbers. He found errors. He was good at it. He was precise. He was cold. He carried a black...

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