The Pale Fracture
The needle pierces the fabric, pulling a thread of gold that hums against the cold air. Your fingers are stained with ink, the residue of the ledger you spent the last eight hours balancing. Outside the window of the Bureau of Compliance, the Pale City stretches out, a grid of gray stone and dim, flickering gaslights. It is a city that runs on silence, and you are one of the few who still hears...
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