The Distant Cartograph
The tea in the chipped ceramic cup had long since cooled, a dark, still lake reflecting the fluorescent hum of the break room. Elias Thorne sat alone, the silence pressing against his eardrums like deep water. He was a man of few words, a senior inspector in the Department of Internal Affairs, a role that required a stoicism bordering on geological. The walls were beige, institutional, and...
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