The Pale Fracture
The glass stem of the champagne flute was cold against Elias Vane’s thumb, slick with condensation that ran down into the creases of his knuckles. He held it loosely, as if it were a tool he might drop, while the band in the corner of the Oakhaven Municipal Hall played a waltz that sounded like it was being played underwater. Around him, the senior chemists of Hale & Sons Industrial Solutions...
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