The Pale Fracture
The dream is always the same: a pane of glass, shattered but unbroken, held in your palm like a fragile jewel, the cracks catching the light in a web of silver that refuses to separate. You wake in the sterile white bed of your Ministry apartment, the air thin and recycled, the hum of the filtration system a low thrum against your temples. It is Tuesday, three days before the deadline. You are...
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