The Pale Fracture
The air in the basement of the Whitmore residence smelled of wet plaster and ozone, a scent that had seeped into the fibers of the drywall over the last three decades, becoming indistinguishable from the house itself. Elias stood before the central pillar, his hands resting on the cold, damp stone, feeling the vibration that traveled up through his palms and into his bones, a low-frequency hum...
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