The Pale Fracture
The wire cutter bit into the rusted chain link with a sharp, metallic snap that echoed off the concrete walls. Elias Thorne’s hands were steady, though the wool of Mara’s scarf, wrapped tight around his neck, felt damp and heavy against his skin. He was thirty-four years old, a senior archivist for the Municipal Records Office, and he was breaking into Sector 4. The air inside the quarantine...
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