The Pale Fracture
The keycard slid into the reader with a magnetic click that felt louder than a gunshot in the silent dark, and my thumb, still stained with the rust-colored ink of the ledgers, pressed against the biometric pad until the light shifted from angry red to a sickly, pale green. I am Elara Vane, Senior Archivist, and for the last twelve years I have breathed the recycled air of the Pale Fracture, a...
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