The Pale Protocol
The ledger said three days. Three days since the last shift ended, three days since Thomas went under, and three days since I stopped sleeping. I counted the stitches on my left boot, twenty-two, matching the number of years I had served this town. The air in Oakhaven did not smell of coal anymore. It smelled of sulfur and wet wool, a heavy, cloying scent that sat in the throat and would not...
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