The Pale Door
The silver shard cut Elias Thorne’s thumb before the Minister had finished speaking, a thin line of blood welling against the cold metal in his palm. He did not flinch, nor did he look down at the wound; his eyes remained fixed on the heavy oak desk of the Ministry of Finance, where the afternoon light from the high windows fell in slanted, dusty bars, illuminating the dust motes that swirled...
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