The Pale Fracture
The rain hits the window of your office like a handful of gravel. You are Elias, thirty-two, and you have been a Senior Archivist at the Bureau of Linguistic Purity for nine years. Your hands are steady, but your stomach is a knot of cold iron. On the desk before you lies the file for your daughter, Clara. She is sixteen. The Drafting Corps takes all sixteen-year-olds whose genetic markers show...
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