The Pale Protocol
12 March 1904 I am holding the report in my hands, the ink still wet on the page, and the paper feels slick against my palms. It is a list of names, debts, and hours worked, but the words have blurred into a gray smear. I am forty-two years old, a constable in Harrowgate, and I want to know why Silas died. He collapsed on the cobblestones of Mill Street during our evening patrol, his body...
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