The Pale Garden

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2026-08-22 18:25:59 -

The Pale Garden

The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the Whitehall corridor into a slick, treacherous mirror. I stood before the heavy oak door of the Director’s office, my hands trembling not from the cold, but from the fine, powdery grit that was beginning to flake from my knuckles. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have served the...

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