The Golden Mirror
The separation order was signed in blue ink. It was a quiet thing, a bureaucratic severance. You stood in the corridor of the Bureau, the fluorescent lights humming a low, sick note against your skull. Your shoes squeaked on the linoleum. It was a cold sound. Dry. Final. You were leaving. Not by choice. By design. The file was thin. Three pages. A list of discrepancies in the thermal imaging...
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