The Distant Nightmare
The fluorescent lights in the Ministry of Internal Affairs hummed with a low, persistent drone that Elias felt in his teeth. He sat at his desk, the wood worn smooth by decades of indifferent hands, and stared at the yellowed file before him. The date on the final order from the late Minister Vane was wrong. It was a small thing, a day’s discrepancy, but in a place where precision was the only...
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