The Pale Verdict
The mortar crumbles in your hands, a fine grey powder that slips through your fingers like wet sand, leaving only the smell of wet clay and the faint, rhythmic throb of the stone beneath your palms. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a master mason who has spent two decades of his life breathing the dust of St. Jude’s, the ancient sealed cathedral where the walls do not merely stand but...
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