The Wistful Voyage
"Is the dosage sufficient?" Commander Silas Thorne did not look up from the ledger. His pen hovered over the ink, a fine line of black waiting to be drawn. The room smelled of beeswax and stale tea. Outside, the rain lashed against the high windows of the Ministry of Internal Stability. It was a sound like static, a white noise that swallowed the world beyond the glass. "It is within the...
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