The Pale Tale
Three years. That was the count. Three years of service, three years of bad knees, three years of watching the light slant lower across the linoleum of the Blackwood outpost until the shadows swallowed the desk. Elias Thorne checked his watch, a heavy brass thing that ticked too loud in the quiet room, and counted the seconds until the shift change. Fifty-two years old, and his heart felt like...
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