The Wistful Skyline
Act I The shuttle flew, a blur of polished bone slicing through the humid air, and Asim Wazir caught it with a wrist that had been aching since dawn, the impact jarring up his arm and settling into the marrow of his shoulder. He stood in the center of the banquet hall, a space that smelled of cardamom and old dust, where the air hung heavy and thick as wet wool, and he did not look at the...
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