The Faded Dust
Chapter One The harbor at low tide was a mudflat of broken promises, the water retreating to reveal the skeletal ribs of the city and the rusted anchors of ships that had long since rotted away. The air smelled of brine and stale coal smoke, a thick, gray blanket that settled into the lungs and stayed there. I was Huseyin Erdogan, forty-two years old, a scribe in the Sultan’s archive, and I...
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