The Distant Promise
Christina Nikolaidis gripped the tiller of the water taxi, her knuckles white against the wet wood as the bow cut through the grey fen water. The engine coughed, a rhythmic metallic groan that vibrated up through the soles of her boots, a sound she had come to know better than her own heartbeat. She was thirty-two years old, a court astronomer in all but name, mapping the erratic comet that...
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