The Pale Fracture
The transfer request form was heavy, a slab of cream-colored cardstock that felt like a brick in Elias’s hands, the ink still damp and smelling of the industrial toner that permeated the Ministry of Continuity. He sat in the sterile, humming corridor of Sector Four, the low-frequency thrum of the Echo vibrating in his teeth, a sound so constant it had become the baseline of his existence. He...
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