The Pale Protocol
Thorne. The name hung in the air of the library, sharp as a snapped twig, spoken by Silas with the particular disdain of a man who has been waiting for hours. I looked up from the ledger, my fingers stained with the black residue of the binding, and saw the eviction notice in his hand, the paper yellowed and brittle as old skin. It was a small thing, a rectangle of bad news, but it carried the...
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