The Pale Protocol
Elias, you are going to ruin the house, Mrs. Gable said, her voice cutting through the steam of the kettle with the sharpness of a blade against a rusty hinge. I did not look up from the ledger, my pen scratching a dry, harsh line across the paper, because the reflection in the antique mirror above the mantel was still two seconds behind my hand, a delay so small it might have been a trick of...
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