The Pale Protocol
"You’re losing your grip, Thorne. The court is not a place for men who speak to their dead." I wrote that line down in the leather-bound journal, the ink still wet and dark as a bruise, while the draught from the high windows of the archive shivered against my neck. It was November 1903, and the heat in the room was stifling, a heavy, damp thing that clung to the paper and the skin alike. I am...
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