The Distant Cartograph
The tincture bottle sat on your desk like a small, amber eye, watching you with a patience that made your skin prickle. It was a vintage compound, the label yellowed with age, smelling faintly of bitter almonds and old paper, a scent that triggered a memory so sharp it felt like a physical cut. You were Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior actuary at Meridian Reinsurance, and your life was a...
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