The Pale Tower

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2026-08-23 15:58:23 -

The Pale Tower

The pen in your hand is cold, the brass cap biting into the pad of your thumb, a small, sharp pain that anchors you to the reality of the desk before you. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne, forty years old, and you have not slept since the night Arthur was taken, the silence in your chest a heavy, leaden thing that presses against your ribs with every shallow breath. The office smells of wet wool...

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