The Distant Cartograph
The rain against the high, narrow windows of the Ministry of Cartographic Standards did not fall so much as it pressed, a persistent, grey thumb against the glass, blurring the city beyond into a smear of charcoal and slate. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and for the last three years you have lived in the shadow of a single, unprovable suspicion: that the 1894 border survey was...
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