The Pale Tale
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the streets of the old district into a slurry of mud and broken glass, and within the high, drafty walls of the Holloway estate, the air smelled of damp wool, stale coffee, and the faint, metallic tang of fear that permeates a house when the men who wear badges stop being protectors and start becoming predators....
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