The Pale Fracture
The train does not stop at the station, but it slows. It shudders against the rails, a metallic groan that you feel in your teeth before you hear it with your ears. You are sitting in the corner of the carriage, your uniform pressed and stiff, the insignia on your shoulder epaulets catching the gray light from the window. You are a Lieutenant in the Bureau of Continuity, a title that sounds...
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