The Pale Exile
March 14, 2024. The ferry cut across the grey water like a scalpel, severing the horizon. Elias Thorne stood at the stern, his hands white-knuckled on the railing, watching Oakhaven shrink into a smudge of industrial rust and wet slate. He was forty-two, a reclamation officer for the municipal council, a man whose life was defined by the acquisition of dead things. His task was simple, mandated...
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