The Pale Door
Thorne. The syllable hung in the air, sharp as a snapped twig, before Colonel Halloway even looked up from his desk. Elias stood rigid, his boots scuffed with the mud of the perimeter walk, staring at the man who had signed off on his promotion and then watched him bleed for it. The office was dim, the single lamp casting long, distorted shadows against the filing cabinets that lined the walls...
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