The Distant Affair
The grey patch on your wrist is the size of a coin. It is cold, dry, and utterly silent beneath the cuff of your shirt. You sit in the Ministry of Internal Order, the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of afternoon light that cuts through the blinds. Your mother, Elara, is dying in the Northern District, and the pension that will keep her from the street depends on you clearing this final...
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