The Pale Shadows
Elara, come in here, please. The voice of Marcus Thorne, the Foundation’s Director, cut through the hum of the climate control system with a sharpness that made my jaw tighten. I stood in the doorway of his office, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind me, severing the low, white-noise drone of the archive. The room was warm, smelling of expensive leather and the faint, metallic tang of the...
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