The Pale Meridian
Thorne, you’re drifting again. The voice was not loud, but it carried the specific, brittle weight of a man who had spent forty years ensuring that every bolt in the mill was tightened to the exact same torque. Director Halloway stood at the edge of the ledger desk, his shadow falling across the page like a stain of ink that had not yet dried. Elias did not look up. He was staring at the entry...
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