The Distant Journey
The air in the Department of Ethical Compliance did not smell of stale coffee or toner, as one might expect in a bureaucratic labyrinth, but of ozone and wet earth, a heavy, suffocating scent that clung to the back of Marcus Thorne’s throat like a physical weight. He stood before the window of his glass-walled office, his hands trembling not with cold, but with the sheer, crushing velocity of...
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