The Pale Banner
The chandeliers in the St. Jude’s Hospital banquet hall were heavy with crystal, casting fractured lights across the faces of the staff, who smiled with the strained politeness of people who had not slept well in weeks. Elias Thorne sat at the head table, his hands resting flat on the white tablecloth, watching the dust motes dance in the beams of the overhead spotlights. He was forty-two, a...
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