The Distant Cartograph
The directive was printed on heavy, cream-colored stock, the kind that felt expensive in the hand. Elias Thorne held it under the fluorescent tube of the checkpoint office, the light humming a low, sickly note that vibrated in his teeth. The paper listed the new detention quotas. They were up forty percent. The signature at the bottom was blurred, a smear of blue ink that looked less like a...
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