The Pale Fracture
The clinic smelled of antiseptic and cold plastic, a scent that had seeped into Elias’s pores over the three years since his license was revoked. He sat in the waiting area, his hands folded in his lap, watching the fluorescent lights flicker with a rhythmic, sickly pulse. Across the room, Mara sat on a low bench, her legs drawn up to her chest, her face pale and gaunt from the state-mandated...
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