The Pale Circus
Gaspard Thibault remembered the weight of the jade seal in his pocket long after he had set it down. It was a small, cracked thing, an heirloom from his father, and it had felt heavier than the stone it was made of during the final inspection of the east wing. He was forty-five, a senior security chief in the palace, and his heart had begun to stutter like a bad engine, a mechanical fault he...
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