The Pale Altar
The seal was cracked. Maren stared at the wax. Red. Deep arterial red. It had been whole when she left the archive. Now it split. A hairline fracture. Like a dry riverbed. She picked up her knife. The blade was short. Steel. Sharp enough to cut a man’s throat if he was careless. Maren was never careless. She was an investigator. A finder of lies. In the Kingdom of Oakhaven, truth was a...
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