The Golden Cellar
The shift change at the desalination plant was a thing of rigid clocks and silent hands, where the light of the short winter days struck the glass filters at a low, unyielding angle. Mireille Dantès stood at the boundary line that cut through the kitchen, her repair quota hanging over her like a debt she could not pay, watching the automated rigs hum in the moonlit quarry beyond the window. She...
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