The Pale Protocol
The fluorescent lights in the basement archive hummed a low, persistent note that vibrated in Elena’s teeth. It was 2:00 AM on a Tuesday, and the air smelled of dust, old paper, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone. Elena sat at her desk, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to ignore the fresh, pale smear on the inside of her left wrist. It looked like a bruise that had never quite...
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