The Distant Blade
The quarterly audit is three weeks away, and the air in the control room of Blackwood Port smells of ozone and stale coffee, a scent that has seeped into the fibers of your uniform over the last six years until it feels less like a smell and more like a second skin. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior customs inspector whose entire identity is woven into the rigid architecture of this...
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