The Wistful Atlas
Mara walked. The pavement was slick with rain, a mirror for the gray sky. She carried a bag. It was heavy. Inside, paper. Ink. Truth. The city hummed around her, indifferent. Neon signs bled into the wet asphalt. Red. Blue. Cold light. She walked toward the Ministry. It stood like a tomb of glass and steel. A monolith in the heart of the district. She had been here before. Many times. Always...
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