The Pale Fracture
Your left hand is steady as it turns the calibration dial, a movement so precise it feels less like labor and more like a surgical incision into the silence. The lead-lined chamber is cold, a sterile white void where the air tastes of ozone and old dust, and the only light comes from the amber glow of the monitoring instruments that line the curved walls. You are Elias Thorne, the senior...
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