The Pale Protocol
"You will wait in the archive until the ink dries," Kaito Tanaka said, his voice flat as a stone dropped into the bayou cypress knees that lined the harbor, his eyes fixed on a point just above my left ear where the smoke from the dying mine hung thick and grey against the shuttered windows of the machiya. I stood in the quarantine hut, the air tasting of sulfur and rotting kelp, my suitcase...
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