The Distant Cartograph
The air in the Archive of Strategic Logistics did not smell of dust, as one might expect, but of ozone and the metallic tang of overheated server racks, a sterile scent that clung to the back of the throat like a lie. I sat at my station, the blue glow of the monitors painting my face in shades of bruised twilight, and I felt the familiar, dull ache in the left shoulder, a phantom pain that had...
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