The Pale Banner
The thread count was wrong. Elias Thorne held the frayed corner of the Pale Banner, his knuckles white against the rough weave, and counted the threads under the magnifying lamp. One hundred and twelve. Yesterday it had been one hundred and fifteen. The Meridian Institute’s air conditioning hummed a low, indifferent drone, the only sound in the vault besides the wet, heavy thud of his own...
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