The Pale Verdict
The count is precise: four hundred and twelve hours. That is what the ledger says you have worked in the last quarter, a number so neat it feels manufactured, yet your own memory of the damp cellar walls and the scratching of the graphite pencil contradicts the arithmetic. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a junior archivist in the subterranean vaults of the Imperial Ministry, and you...
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