The Distant Cartograph
The air in the sub-level banquet hall was thick, humid, and tasted of recycled oxygen. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the room, the crystal glass in his hand sweating against his palm. It was a celebration for the newly promoted agents, a lavish affair funded by the agency’s surplus, yet the joy felt performative, a mask worn over the sterile machinery of the detention center. The...
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