The Pale Shadows
The gate of the High Citadel did not open so much as it exhaled, a slow mechanical groan that seemed to shake the dust from the eaves of the surrounding administration blocks. Elias Thorne stood at the threshold, his boots scuffing against the polished marble, a sound that felt obscenely loud in the hushed, antiseptic air of the morning. He was forty-five, a age that had long since stripped the...
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