The Pale Fracture
Una MacLeod stood before the High Steward, the weight of forty years settling into the marrow of her bones, and waited for the judgment that would decide whether her daughter, Eilidh, would be drafted into the labor battalions or spared by the state’s mercy. The air in the Inner Court was thick with the hum of the power grid, a low-frequency vibration that had worn the stone floors smooth over...
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