The Distant Temple
The ferns in the breakroom did not grow. They were printed on a vinyl wall mural, a static green scream behind the coffee machine. Elias Vance, Senior Compliance Officer, adjusted his tie. The knot was too tight. It pressed against the Adam’s apple like a noose made of silk. He looked at the mural. The fronds were perfect. Symmetrical. Dead. "Morning, Elias," said Sarah. She was pouring oat...
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