The Pale Fracture
The summons came not as a shout, but as the dry, abrasive scrape of a chair leg against the linoleum, a sound that cut through the humid silence of the Ministry’s antechamber. Elias Thorne looked up from the ledger in his lap, his fingers still pressed against the cracked leather spine, and saw Chief Archivist Vane standing at the end of the corridor, his silhouette framed by the gray light of...
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