The Pale Fracture
The fluorescent lights of the audit room hummed with a frequency that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth, a low, grinding vibration that synchronized with the rapid tapping of Director Vance’s fingers on the mahogany desk. Vance, a man whose face seemed carved from the same gray stone as the city outside, slid a sheaf of papers across the surface, the corner of the stack catching the light with a...
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