The Distant Joke
Act I Jelena Karapetyan’s hands were raw from the friction of the train’s iron handrail, the metal biting into her palms as the carriage lurched over the uneven tracks, a rhythmic shudder that traveled up her arms and settled in the hollow of her chest. She clutched the leather satchel against her hip, feeling the hard edges of the survey maps inside, documents that cost her three months of...
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