The Faded Quadrant
The air in the great hall of the Central Administrative Complex tasted of stale coffee and polished oak, a thick, suffocating blend that seemed to coat the back of the throat and refuse to be swallowed. It was a space designed for order, for the quiet machinery of state, yet today it hummed with a low, vibrating tension that made the hair on the forearms stand up. Men in dark suits moved...
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