The Distant Cartograph
The map was wet. That was the first thing I noticed, the way a man notices the cold before he sees the snow, a dampness that had no business existing in the climate-controlled basement of the City Hall archives. I held the edges of the paper, feeling the slick, cold resistance of the ink against my fingertips, and the smell of it hit me, not the dry dust of old files but the sharp, metallic...
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