The Pale Meridian
The chandeliers in the Hall of the High Peaks Lodge burned with a low, amber hum that seemed to swallow the sound of cutlery against porcelain, casting long, trembling shadows across the faces of the assembled elite who had gathered to celebrate the regional surveying bureau’s centennial. Elias Thorne stood near the edge of the banquet table, his spine rigid against the oppressive warmth of the...
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