The Golden Maze
Act I In the drowned cities, order is a debt paid in ink, and the debt is never fully settled. I have spent twenty years as a senior inquisitor for the Ministry of Preservation, a title that sounds grand on paper but feels, in the bone, like a mortgage on a berth in the orbital cemetery bay. The light in the staff showers was always too yellow, a sickly hue that made the linoleum look like old...
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