The Pale Tower
Henrique Queiros lifted the heavy suitcase from the floor, the leather handle biting into his palm as he adjusted the weight of the vials inside, feeling the low, persistent hum of the glass against his hip bones. He was forty-five, a linguist who had spent two decades cataloging the dead languages of the northern coast, and now he stood in the hallway of the Porto docks, the air thick with the...
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