The Pale Protocol
Thorne. The name was not spoken so much as spat into the air, a dry, brittle sound that cut through the static of the radio. You froze, the pen hovering over the logbook, the ink bleeding into the paper in a dark, spreading bruise. It was Vance. He never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. The silence that followed your name was heavier than any shout, a physical weight that pressed against...
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