The Pale Fracture
The ink was black, viscous, and it was bleeding through the wax. Elias Thorne held his breath, his fingers trembling as he pressed the seal into the red clay. The surface of the stamp, a heavy disc of obsidian-like material, had a jagged line running through its center. It was not a crack in the wax. It was a fracture in the stone itself. He wiped his hands on his trousers. The Ministry of...
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