The Golden Echoes
Act I Siranush Minasyan had been a border guard for twelve years, a fact that made her left wrist ache in the humid heat of the interrogation room. The air smelled of stale tobacco and wet concrete, a heavy, cloying scent that settled in the back of her throat. She stood before the desk of Commandant Vahram, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on the man’s hands which rested on a stack of manila...
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