The Distant Cartograph
The ink on the parchment did not dry so much as it wept, bleeding into the fibrous grain of the paper in a way that Elias Thorne had never seen in twenty years of surveying the Northern Territory. He held the vial of morphine in his left hand, the glass cold and slick against his sweat-dampened palm, while his right hand trembled over the drafting table, the quill poised like a needle ready to...
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