The Pale Banner
Act I Yasaman Sadeghi’s hands, stained with the rust of a lock that no longer fit her grip, were deep in the mechanism of the harbor quarantine hut, wrestling the bolt back while the January thaw tricked the orchards outside into blooming too early. She was thirty years old, a senior archivist in the sealed, fog-choked citadel of the Pale Banner, and she held the frayed silk banner that...
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