The Pale Protocol
The rain had been falling for three days, a cold, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the lower city into slick, black mirrors. I am writing this to you, Clara, because there is no one else who will believe me, and because I need the act of writing to keep the hum from settling into my bones. You asked if I was still guarding the Mayor’s estate, and the answer is yes, though the nature...
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