The Pale Verdict
The banquet hall of the Ashworth Institute gleamed with a cold, surgical brilliance, the air thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the metallic tang of ozone that seemed to cling to the polished mahogany tables. Twelve-year-old Julian stood at the edge of the room, his small hands trembling as he clutched the hem of his ill-fitting blazer, watching the adults move with the choreographed...
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