The Pale Altar
The ceiling tile in the boardroom of the Meridian Group did not fall; it descended, a slow, white flake of drywall that hit the polished oak table with a sound like a dry bone snapping. Margaret Holloway stared at the debris, her eyes fixed not on the damage, but on the shadow of the crack that ran through the plaster, a jagged vein of darkness that mirrored the sudden, terrifying clarity of...
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