The Pale Fracture
The name was called out over the intercom, a flat, synthesized drone that bled through the walls of the Bureau of Civic Harmony. "Inspector Thorne. Report to the Harmonic Review Desk." Elias did not move. He sat in the dim pool of his desk lamp, the only light in the sprawling, soot-stained office, and watched the dust motes drift in the amber cone. On the desk before him sat a porcelain cup,...
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