Marcus Thibodeaux walked through the glass doors of Aethelgard Dynamics on a Tuesday morning in October, and within fifteen minutes, the receptionist had smiled at him three times without once meeting his eyes.
He noticed this because he had spent the past eleven months noticing everything. The angle of a stranger's head when they offered condolences. The precise microsecond of hesitation before someone asked how he was holding up. The way the word "accident" slid out of people's mouths with a slight downward inflection, as if they were already placing a period at the end of a sentence they didn't...
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