The Golden Compass
"Your clearance has been suspended, Brath." I looked up from the terminal, my fingers still resting on the cold keys. The night supervisor, a man named Vok who wore his uniform like a shroud, stood in the doorway of the archive booth. He did not look at me. He looked at the coffee mug sitting on my desk, a simple ceramic thing I had used for three years. It was cracked down the middle, a jagged...
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