The Pale Tale
The rain lashed against the high, narrow windows of the Ministry of Internal Security, a relentless, gray hammering that seemed to vibrate through the stone walls and into the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, where it settled as a cold, persistent ache that mirrored the tremor in his hands. He stood before the desk of the Senior Clerk, a man whose face was a landscape of bureaucratic...
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