The Distant Clue
You wear the coat. It is heavy. Wool and lead. It smells of rain and old copper. You hold it close. The fabric is rough against your cheek. You are the Inspector. You hunt for the breach. The System is a machine of bone and iron. It grinds. It does not stop. It demands order. It demands silence. You walk into the White Halls. The air is thin here. It tastes of dust and judgment. The walls...
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