The Wistful Grid
The ink is still wet on the last contour line when the lattice appears. It shimmers over the valley floor, a geometric web of pale light that does not exist on any chart I have drawn in twenty years of service. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, and my contract with the Royal Survey ends in May. I need to finish the Whispering Peaks. I need the map to be perfect. I need it to be finished before the...
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