The Pale Fracture
The air in Interrogation Room Four tasted of ozone and stale coffee, a metallic tang that coated Elias Vane’s tongue as he sat across from Warden Thorne. The room was a sterile white box, devoid of corners, where the light seemed to emanate from the walls themselves, casting no shadows and offering no refuge. Elias, thirty-four years old and branded a Structural Heretic, leaned forward, his...
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