The Wistful Witness
The hum of the ventilation system was a low, constant drone. It filled the empty conference room on the fourteenth floor. I sat alone. My hands were flat on the polished mahogany table. I counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. The clock on the wall had no hands. It was a minimalist design. Just a white face. And a red digital number. 09:00. Then 09:01. Time was not a river here. It was a grid. A...
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