The Distant Ghost
Chapter One Did you ever wonder if a lie has a temperature? I did not, until the day the jade pin in my hair turned to ice against my scalp. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, the days had blurred into a single grey smear of dust and diesel fumes outside the Ministry of Records. I was thirty-two, mid-level archivist, and I wanted the title of Head of Restoration before the winter audit...
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