The Pale Fracture
The ledger is clean, Elias. Director Vane’s voice was dry, like the sound of a file being slid into a drawer. He did not look at me. He looked at the window, where the afternoon light was failing, turning the dust motes into suspended gray sparks. I sat in the chair opposite his desk, my hands clasped so tightly the knuckles turned white. I wanted to tell him about the decimal point. I wanted...
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