The Distant Threshold
Who can hold a line that is not there? The question hung in the damp air of the archive, a physical weight against Giorgos Vassiliou’s chest. He stood before Director Kallis, his fingers trembling as he held out the folder of documents, the paper slick with the humidity of the island. The room was cold, a draught slipping under the door to bite at his ankles, but his skin burned with a fever...
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