The Pale Tale
Tariq Haddad remembered the weight of the bronze door-pivot before he remembered the pain. It hung on its reused hinge in the signal tower living quarters, a heavy, dull circle that had once secured the gate of a merchant’s warehouse in Tunis. He had carried it back from the peat country, where the land was cut and burning, and now it sat in his pocket, cold against his thigh, a constant...
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