The Pale Protocol
The road to the village of Oakhaven is not a straight line but a series of apologies made by the earth to the sky, winding through the damp, grey woods where the pines stand like silent sentinels watching for a crime that has not yet occurred. You arrive on a Tuesday, though the day of the week feels less like a fact and more like a suggestion, a loose thread in the fabric of a time that has...
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