The Pale Meridian
The note was written in pencil, the graphite smudged where Clara’s thumb had pressed too hard against the cheap paper. It sat on the kitchen table, next to a cold cup of tea and a list of debts Elias Thorne had been staring at since dawn. The words were simple, but the ink bled into the fiber of the paper like a bruise spreading under skin. *Surrender the badge by noon or I die. Halloway knows...
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