The Distant Cartograph
The rain against the high windows of the Ministry of Interior was not a sound but a vibration, a low, persistent hum that seemed to rise from the stone floor and settle in the marrow of your bones, a physical weight that made the air in the drafting room feel thick and stale. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior cartographer whose life has been reduced to the precise measurement...
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