The Wistful Grid
October 12, 1893 The air in the Ministry of Internal Affairs has always smelled of dust and dried ink, but lately, it smells of rot. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a senior clerk in the Department of Records, and I am terrified. I have served this institution for eight years, a period during which I have never missed a deadline, never misfiled a document, and never spoken out of turn....
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