The Pale Protocol
The ledger is due by noon, Elias. Do not tell me the ink is wet. I can smell it from here. Dr. Aris’s voice was dry, like the sound of a bone snapping under a boot. He stood in the doorway of my office, his shadow stretching across the floorboards, long and thin as a needle. I did not look up. My hands were buried in the cold, damp wool of my waistcoat, fingers trembling against the paper. The...
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