The Pale Tower
The rain had turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, dark mirror, reflecting the grey sky above with a fidelity that felt almost accusatory. You stood in the narrow corridor of the municipal archive, your breath misting slightly in the cold air, holding the brittle pages of the "Pale Tower" manuscript with the care of a man handling shrapnel. Elias Thorne, forty-two, junior archivist,...
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