The Pale Banner
The ink on Arthur Vane’s left hand did not wash off, and it did not fade. It sat under the skin like a bruise that refused to heal, a pale, milky discoloration that spread from his fingertips to his wrist in a slow, creeping tide. He rubbed it against the rough wool of his sleeve as he walked into the foreman’s office, the friction doing nothing but making the hair on his arms stand up. The...
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