The Distant Journey
Hafsa Raza had kept the only boat across the canal for twelve years, a tenure secured not by merit but by the fact that she was the last one who remembered how to tie the specific knot that held the hull to the stone. She woke before the dawn shift began, her hands stained with the black ink of the family ledger, a substance that had begun to seep into the skin of her forearms in the shape of...
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