The Pale Letter
The elevator doors closed with a soft, hydraulic sigh, sealing Margaret in the ascending silence. She stood still, her reflection fragmented in the polished steel. It was a mirror that did not lie, but it did not explain. Below, the lobby of the St. Jude’s Data Center receded, a grid of fluorescent lights shrinking into a single, cold point. Above, the air grew thinner, charged with a static...
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