The Pale Path

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2026-08-22 21:44:49 -

The Pale Path

The banquet hall in the Oakhaven Police Station smelled of stale beer and wet wool. You stood by the bar, watching your own reflection ripple in the glass of whiskey, thirty-four years old with a spine that felt like cracked wood. Sergeant Halloway poured you a drink, his hands steady, his eyes tired. "The marks are spreading, Elias," he said, his voice low over the clatter of plates. "They’re...

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