The Distant Joke
Act I Samira Idris knew the price of a knee before the price of a life, a fact that made the morning light in the watchtower feel less like dawn and more like an accusation. She was forty-five, a border warden with twenty years of service logged in the ledger of the Ministry of Perimeter Security, and the joint in her right leg had begun to grind with a sound like gravel under a boot. Outside,...
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