The Pale Meridian
Act I Vangelis Bakolas, thirty-two, woke with the taste of iron in his mouth and the certainty that the seal was already gone. The fever had broken an hour ago, leaving him slick and trembling in the narrow cot behind the scribe's stall, but the dream of the iron gates had calcified into a waking fear that the Chief Engineer’s mark had been stolen from the turbine design before the morning...
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