The Distant Wound

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2026-08-22 18:55:11 -

The Distant Wound

The banquet hall of the Ministry of Nutritional Compliance smelled of polished oak and stale ambition. It was the annual Gala for the Senior Assessors, a night where the hierarchy of the Bureau was performed as much as it was observed, and I sat at the long mahogany table, watching the steam rise from the communal pot. The air was thick with the murmur of men who had secured their tenure, their...

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