The Pale Path
The summons came not as a shout, but as a piece of paper sliding across the desk, the ink still wet and smelling of iron and tannin. "Thorne," the secretary said, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth that had once marked her interactions with the senior archivists. "Director Halloway requires your presence. Immediately." You looked down at the document, a rejection notice for a medical...
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