The Faded Quadrant
The leather of the cuff was already peeling at the seam, a flake of black hide lifting away to reveal the pale, raw skin beneath, and it was this small, flaking detail that kept pulling Thomas’s gaze back to his wrist as he stood in the anteroom of the Director’s office, waiting for a judgment he had already accepted but could not yet mourn. He had been in the Ministry for twenty-three years, a...
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