The Golden Compass
The file is incomplete, Vance said, not looking up from the screen. His voice was flat, a dry scrape of gravel under a tire. Elias sat in the windowless office, the ventilation system humming a low, steady note that had grown louder since his promotion. It pressed against his eardrums, a physical weight, the sound of bureaucratic sediment settling into the bones. I need the seizure, Vance...
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