The Pale Fracture
The counter on the chronometer read four hours, twelve minutes, and thirty seconds, a tally that Elias Thorne knew to be a lie. He stood at the edge of the Pale Fracture, a jagged tear in the shale of the northern border where the air tasted of ozone and old copper. The Bureau had sent him to document the anomaly, a task that was less about science and more about proving his loyalty to a state...
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