The Pale Letter
Thorne. The word hung in the air of the Ministry’s main hall, sharp and cold, spoken by Director Halloway with the precise, clipped diction of a man who had long since stopped caring for the men who worked beneath him. I stood at the end of the long oak table, my hands resting on the stack of fiscal ledgers I had been meant to reconcile, and felt the weight of the room’s silence pressing...
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