The Faded Paradox
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the world outside the window into a blurred watercolor. Inside the cramped office on the fourth floor of the old textile building, the air was thick with the smell of damp wool and stale coffee. Arthur Penrose sat at his desk, his hands resting on a cold cup, watching the water drip from the corner of the ceiling...
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