The Distant Journey
In the damp, stone-floored antechamber of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, you hold the broken jade pendant in your left hand, the two shards pressing into your palm until the skin whitens, while the radiator clatters and ticks in the corner, a mechanical heartbeat that seems to sync with the thumping of your own temples. It is late November, and the light from the high, barred windows is a...
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