The Distant Metropolis
October 12, 1998 The rain in Oakhaven does not fall; it hangs, a gray veil that suffocates the rooftops and turns the cobblestones into slick mirrors. I am leaving for the Metropolitan Institute before the light fully breaks, driven by the quiet, corrosive dread that has settled into my bones since Aris began questioning my hours in the basement. I am forty-two years old, an archivist of modest...
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