The Wistful Atlas
Act I "You are wasting the ink again," Koba said, his voice flat with the exhaustion of a man who had already spent his last coin on rice. He stood in the doorway of the greenhouse module, where the drip and hum of the industrial pumps masked the sound of his breathing, and watched Ivana Beridze press her thumb against the wet, dark stain spreading across her desk. It was not water. It was a...
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