The Distant Cartograph
The rain against the reinforced glass of the briefing room was a rhythmic, static hiss, a white noise that seemed to scrub the edges of the world clean, leaving only the gray stone of the Capital and the sterile hum of the air filtration systems. Commander Elias Thorne sat with his back to the window, his posture rigid, a physical manifestation of the discipline that had defined his thirty...
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