The Faded Attic
The ink on the summons was still wet, smelling of iron and rain. It read: To the Office of the Archivist, regarding the extension of tenure for S. Ghannam, subject to final review. Samira Ghannam held the paper against her chest as she climbed the steep, terraced hill toward the fortress walls, the vial of boundary dust clutched in her other hand. The dust was cold, colder than the wet stone...
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