The Pale Banner
The requisition form lay on the cold oak of the desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry, heated air of the office, and in your hands, the signature of Colonel Halloway looked less like a man’s mark and more like the scratch of a rat on a wall. You held it there, the paper trembling not from your own fear but from the vibration of the city outside, where the trams clattered over the...
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