The Pale Fracture
The coal smoke in the Gray Zone did not rise; it settled, a heavy gray blanket that smelled of sulfur and old iron. Elias Thorne sat at his desk, the wood scarred by decades of ink stains and cigarette burns, and stared at the pale residue weeping down the wall behind him. It was a mineral deposit, the Ministry called it, a byproduct of the thermal vents that kept the city warm. Elias called it...
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