The Wistful Ashes
The map was wrong. Not wrong in the way of a misplaced border or a faded ink line, but wrong in its very essence, a lie laid flat upon the grey desk of the Bureau of Internal Stability. Elias Thorne, a cartographer of forty years with hands that had trembled only once in his career, watched Director Halloway slide the parchment back toward him. The room was silent, save for the low, subsonic...
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