The Golden Compass
The ledger in my hand weighed precisely four ounces, a paper record of twenty years’ service that felt heavier than the iron handcuffs hanging from my belt. I counted the entries again, the ink faded by dampness, each line a year of duty, of silence, of the slow erosion of a man who had given his blood to the state. Outside, the November wind scoured the cobblestones of the district, a sound...
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