The Distant Journey
The rain against the Ministry’s floor-to-ceiling windows did not sound like rain; it sounded like static, a white noise that filled the glass-walled office of the Directorate of Archival Integrity, drowning out the hum of the climate control and the distant, muffled sirens of the city below. I sat at my desk, the mahogany surface cold under my palms, staring at the formal petition I had drafted...
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