The Pale Protocol
Act I "Sign here, Xiu Song. The ink is drying." I looked up from the ledger, my hand still hovering over the page, the tip of the brush trembling against the paper. The office was dim, the only light coming from the oil lamp on the desk, which cast a long, wavering shadow across the floor. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, fast by six minutes, a rhythm I had kept for twenty years without...
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