The Pale Fracture
The concrete skin of the Meridian Spire was flaking off in gray sheets, raining down into the server racks below like ash from a fire that had burned out years ago, and Major Elias Thorne watched the debris hit the cooling fans with the detached precision of a man who had spent fifteen years counting bodies at the border. He was thirty-four, a veteran of the Purges, and his pension depended on...
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