The Distant Temple
The ink on the pen tip was dry, a black scab forming as Elias Thorne held the stylus suspended over the site survey map, the tip trembling not from cold but from the specific, grinding weight of his own guilt. He was forty-five, a mid-level bureaucrat in the Ministry of Urban Planning, and he wanted the promotion that would move his desk from the windowless basement to the corner office on the...
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