The Pale Fracture
How long can a man hold a secret before it grows roots in his lungs? Simin Naderi stood at the window of the counting room, his knuckles white against the glass, watching the bioluminescent moss creep up the brickwork of the merchant house. It was a living thing, pale and pulsing, feeding on the fear that permeated the salt district like damp air. His joints ached, a deep, grinding pain that...
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