The Pale Meridian
The hum was there again, a low thrum that vibrated in the fillings of Elias Thorne’s back molars. "You’re filing it under 'Miscellaneous,' Elias. Again." Director Halloway did not look up from his ledger. The leather cover was worn to the color of dried blood, and the spine cracked with a sound like a knuckle popping when he turned the page. "The Bureau classifies by function, not by sentiment....
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