The Pale Protocol
The letter in Elias’s hand was damp with sweat, the ink of the final line bleeding into the paper like a fresh bruise. He stood in the doorway of the study, holding the small glass vial that contained the last of the Pale Protocol, his knuckles white against the cold neck of the bottle. The air in the room was thick with the scent of old leather and the faint, metallic tang of the tonic itself,...
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