The Distant Summer
The fjord cuts the valley in two, a scar of black water that does not heal. Ylva Hagen stood at the window of the immigration office, watching the snow settle on the roof of the watchtower, a structure of old stone that seemed to lean away from the village as if ashamed of its own weight. She was twenty-four, young for the role, but steady in her hands and quick with the ledger, a quality Kael...
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