The Wistful Asylum
Who broke the cup? Act I The question hung in the damp air of the asylum corridor, sharp and unanswered, as Zainal Halim stood before Cell 4. He was thirty-four, a sergeant in the colonial police, his uniform pressed tight against a body that no longer felt entirely his own. His hands trembled, a fine, persistent vibration that he had long since learned to mask with the weight of his service...
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