The Pale Verdict
The brass badge in your hand is cold, heavier than it looks, a small square of authority that feels foreign against the sweat of your palm. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and you are standing in the center of the Grand Ballroom at the Elks Lodge, surrounded by the clinking of crystal and the low, humid hum of a hundred conversations that do not concern you. The air smells of expensive perfume...
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