The Pale Fracture
The rain on the roof of the transport was a relentless, gray drumbeat, a sound that had worn itself into the marrow of your bones long before you remembered how to sleep. You were sitting in the back, your hands cuffed behind you with cold iron, watching the mud smear across the glass in long, vertical streaks that looked like tears. The vehicle was old, a relic of a time before the walls, when...
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