The Distant Metropolis
The transfer request was denied. Elias Thorne stared at the ink on the page, the words still wet, smelling of the cheap chemical solvent the station used for its official seals. He did not look up when Inspector Hale’s chair scraped against the linoleum. The room smelled of stale coffee and damp wool, a scent that had seeped into Elias’s bones over twenty years of service. "I have served this...
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