The Pale Fracture
The seal on the door hissed, a dry, mechanical exhalation that marked the start of another shift in the Processing Unit. Elias sat at the steel table, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead with a frequency that seemed to vibrate directly in his molars. In front of him lay the fragments of a porcelain locket, white and delicate, shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. He was thirty years old, an...
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