The Distant Metropolis
The ledger sat open on the desk, its pages thick with the dust of the last three months, and you counted the hours you had spent in the basement, one by one, your finger tracing the ink until the numbers blurred into a single, indistinct smear. Two hundred and forty hours. Sixty days. You had weighed the silence of the archive against the weight of your own ambition, and for a long while, the...
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