The Pale Altar
Chapter One Vangelis Georgiou was thirty-two years old and had not slept in four days, a fact that made his hands shake when he tried to align the ink stamps with the ledger margins. The Ministry of Eternal Records occupied the old customs house on the causeway, a building that sat half-submerged twice a day as the tide swallowed the lower floors. I worked in the basement, in the section where...
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