The Distant Summer
Elias, stop fidgeting with that pen and listen to me, because the Minister is waiting for us in the antechamber and I cannot afford to have you look like a nervous wreck today. The light in the Ministry of Internal Affairs was always a specific, sickly yellow, the kind that made the dust motes dancing in the air look like suspended ash, and it was this light that illuminated the sudden, violent...
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