The Distant Metropolis
The morning light in the Grand Hall of the Inquisitor’s Tribunal did not so much illuminate the room as it hung suspended in the dust, a heavy, golden suspension that seemed to weigh upon the shoulders of every soul present, and it was in this oppressive, static air that Julian Vane sat at the end of the long, scarred oak table, his hands resting flat upon the wood, his fingers long and pale as...
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