The Wistful Incense
The question that burned in the haze was whether knowledge could save a life, or if it only sharpened the knife that cut it. Miguel Uribe, a scholar whose contract with the municipal archive had ended, sat in the dim light of his straw-pallet barracks, the air heavy with pine smoke drifting from the fire-scarred plateau outside. He held the vial of Wistful Incense, a substance the High...
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