The Golden Crossing
The memo lay on the steel desk, the paper stiff with the dust of the war room. It bore the Ministry’s seal, a gold eagle with broken wings, and the ink was still wet. You read the directive twice. Reinforce the eastern piers of the Golden Crossing. Hold the line. The smell of the office hit you first, a sharp mix of ozone and old coffee, before your eyes adjusted to the gray light filtering...
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