The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-24 10:13:13 -

The Pale Meridian

The letter was on the desk, the ink still wet, smelling of iron and regret. Arthur Vane read it twice, his thumb tracing the jagged edge of the paper, before he folded it into a square no larger than a playing card. Outside, the fog in Millhaven had thickened to the point where the streetlamps looked like submerged buoys, their light diffused and yellow, struggling against the damp that clung...

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