The Distant Clue
Juma Mekonnen’s hand hovered over the brass seal, fingers trembling not from cold but from the weight of the accusation hanging in the air like the stale oxygen of a sealed bay. The Minister of Culture, a man whose suit was pressed with the precision of a surgical instrument, leaned across the desk, his voice a low, grinding rasp that cut through the hum of the hydroponics vents. "You have...
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