The Faded Ruin
The ink on the file was wet. It glistened under the harsh, fluorescent hum of the Ministry of Compliance, a dark, viscous pool that seemed to pull the light into itself. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the desk of Director Halloway, his hands clasped behind his back, the leather of his uniform creaking with a dry, rhythmic sound. He did not look up. To look up was to acknowledge the gaze, and to...
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