The Pale Bridge
Chapter One Krystyna Grabowski, twenty-four, stood in the mud of the undersea habitat’s central atrium, screaming at the Minister to release her brother. The water outside the thick glass panels was a churning, opaque gray, a sea fret that erased the town’s silhouette, but inside, the air was dry and smelled of recycled ozone and old paper. The Minister, a man of pale, insectoid stillness, did...
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