The Pale Fracture
The iron band sat heavy on Elias Thorne’s left index finger, a cold weight against the heat of the banquet hall. He turned it slowly, watching the light catch the tarnish that had settled into the grooves over the last three years. The skin beneath was pale, a stark contrast to the ruddy flush of the other officers, and a fine web of cracks ran from the base of the finger up toward the wrist,...
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