The Pale Fracture
Elias Thorne’s fingers, stained with the cold gray residue of the Pale Fracture, trembled as he gripped the edge of the metal table. The Compliance Bureau office was a sterile white box, smelling of ozone and floor wax, where the air itself seemed to hold its breath. He looked at Director Halloway, a man whose face was mapped with the same hairline cracks that ran through the walls, and spoke...
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