The Faded Sutra
The rain hammered against the corrugated tin roof of the depot with a rhythmic, metallic violence that sounded less like weather and more like the industrial grinding of the world’s gears, a ceaseless, grinding shriek that had worn the edges of Silas Thorne’s soul down to a dull, rusted filament over the course of his thirty years as a senior inspector for the Bureau of Nutritional Compliance...
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