The Pale Fracture
The requisition form lay on the desk, the ink still wet, a dark smear against the pale wood. Elara Vane signed it, the pen scratching a sharp, final line, and then folded the paper into her coat pocket. She was thirty-two, a scribe of the fourth grade, and she had just resigned from the Ministry of Records. The satchel at her hip was heavy with the weight of a single object: the Pale Fracture,...
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