The Pale Tale
Vane, you are late. The light is already turning amber in the west window, and Halloway has been waiting for forty minutes. You know the rule. You know the cost of a minute’s delay in the actuarial department of the Meridian Insurance Exchange. You adjust your tie, a gesture that feels like tightening a noose, and step into the office. Halloway sits behind a desk of dark mahogany, his hands...
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