The Faded Apartment
The banquet hall of the Ministry of Internal Security was a cavern of brass and mahogany, where the air hung heavy with the scent of roasted pheasant and the damp wool of a hundred overcoats. You stood at the edge of the room, your uniform pressed to a mirror finish, the gold buttons of your tunic catching the gaslight in a way that felt less like decoration and more like a series of small,...
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