The Pale Protocol
The letter from the solicitor arrived in a plain brown envelope, the paper thin and brittle as old skin, smelling faintly of dust and the chemical tang of iron gall ink. I unfolded it on the desk in my study, my fingers trembling not from cold, but from the fever that had settled into my bones three days prior, a persistent heat that no amount of water could quench. The document was a notice of...
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