The Pale Protocol
Chapter One Can a man really sell his own years for the price of coal? I ask you this because I am Ryszard Nowakowski, thirty-two years old, and I am standing in my shop on the corner of the district, watching the dust settle on my hands, wondering if the trembling is just the cold or if it is the cost of the debt my father left behind. It is 1912, and the city is heavy with damp brick and...
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