The Pale Fracture
The valley of Oaxaca lay open under a sky bruised with the threat of hail, the paddy fields stretching to the ridgeline in a sea of monsoon green, a landscape that seemed to hold its breath in the heavy, greenish light before the storm broke. In the market square, where the air hung heavy with wet earth and roasting coffee, Isandro Talamantes stood before the Ministry of Continuity, a building...
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