The Pale Protocol
October 12, 1911 The air in the Meridian Insurance Exchange has always carried the scent of stale tobacco and drying ink, a pungent mixture that coats the back of the throat and settles into the pores. Today, however, the atmosphere feels thinner, as if the very oxygen in the room has been siphoned away to make space for the silence that follows Julian Vane’s departure. He walked out of my...
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