The Pale Altar
The fluorescent lights in the federal penitentiary of New Hope hummed with a frequency that Elias Thorne had long since learned to ignore, a sterile, white buzz that seemed to drain the color from the walls and the people who moved through them, yet today the sound pierced his eardrums like a physical needle, amplifying the sterile smell of antiseptic and fear that clung to the corridors as he...
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