The Pale Tale
The iron taste is already on your tongue, a metallic film that coats the back of your throat before you have even opened the bottle, and you sit in the corner of the partners’ office, your hands trembling so violently that the glass vial rattles against your knuckles like a bone being cracked. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a junior actuary who has spent the last decade trying to...
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