The Wistful Ashes
The transfer was denied, Colonel Haddad said, his voice flat as the dust outside the window, and Ahmad Idris felt the cold weight of the paper in his hand, the denial stamped in red ink that looked like a fresh wound. He had wanted the coast, the salt air, anything to escape the dry, grinding silence of the interior garrison, but Haddad’s eyes, pale and unblinking, told him that his...
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