The Wistful Atlas
Chapter One The water has been red since the winter thaw, and it does not seem to bother anyone but me. I am Jelena Grigoryan, thirty-four, a border guard, and I have twenty-three of the Salt Gate keys in my pocket, though I have not used the main one in months. The town is a planned model of concrete and glass, failing under the weight of its own ambition, and the air smells of wet limestone...
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