The Pale Protocol
The pen slipped in the snow-dusted wood of the desk, leaving a jagged black smear across the page before Elias Thorne could catch it. He stared at the mark, a dark vein spreading through the white paper, and then looked up at the window where the wind was stripping the last brown leaves from the pine tree outside. It was November, the third week, and the cold had settled into the bones of the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews