The Pale Banner
The ledger showed forty-two years of service, but Elias Thorne knew the arithmetic was wrong; the paper was damp, the ink blurring where the St. Jude’s Asylum ceiling had leaked for the third winter in a row. He weighed the tattered linen in his hands, a sheet that felt less like cloth and more like cold water held in a fist. This was the Pale Banner, the last item in Ward Four’s inventory, the...
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