The Pale Fracture
My fingers were stained with the grey dust of the 1912 ledger when I first felt the cold seep into my knuckles, a chill that had no source in the climate-controlled air of the Ministry’s basement. I was cross-referencing the geological surveys of the North Face against the Ministry’s internal memos, a task that had consumed the last three weeks of my life, my sleep, and my sanity. The ledger...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews