The Pale Shadows
The coat was not merely an article of clothing; it was a second skin, a heavy, charcoal-colored shroud that had clung to Julian Vane’s frame for three decades, absorbing the damp of London fog and the dry heat of air-conditioned boardrooms with equal indifference. It was a garment of profound stillness, a thing that did not ripple or flutter, but sat upon the shoulders like a stone monument to...
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