The Distant Cartograph
The tremor in Elara Vance’s left hand began as a subtle vibration, a hum like a plucked string that only she could feel, and it was there as she sat alone in the sub-basement of the Ministry of Cultural Heritage, the fluorescent lights humming in a low, indifferent drone that matched the rhythm of her anxiety. She was thirty-two years old, a senior archivist with seven years of service, and the...
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