The Distant Blade
The chandelier in the Great Hall of the Ministry of Internal Affairs was a constellation of crystal and cold light, casting a prismatic, fractured glow over the velvet tablecloths that seemed to absorb the sound of the clinking silverware rather than reflect it, a silence that was not of peace but of held breath, where the air smelled of beeswax, expensive perfume, and the metallic tang of fear...
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