The Distant Whispers
Tariq Khalil’s thumb pressed the wax seal into the parchment, the cold metal of the stamp biting into the soft red wax as his heart stuttered, a jagged arrhythmia that skipped a beat and then slammed back into rhythm with the force of a heavy door closing. He was forty years old, a senior censor in the imperial archive of the port city, a place where the air tasted of salt and the distant,...
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