The Distant Affair

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2026-08-24 14:48:43 -

Imran Ali’s hands moved in a circular motion, the pestle grinding the blackened lotus root into a paste that smelled of wet ash and old copper. He was thirty-two years old, and in the damp, subterranean archives of the Imperial Pharmacy, time did not pass so much as it accumulated, settling in the crevices of his joints like sediment. The Director’s cough had worsened, a dry, rattling sound...

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