The Wistful Voyage
The rain in the city of Ashworth did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain drawn tightly across the windows of the Ministry of Interior, filtering the afternoon light into a bruised and dull shade. Julian Thorne stood by the window, his hand resting on the cold glass, watching the gutters overflow. He was a man who had spent the last twenty years in the service of the state, not as a...
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