The Faded Frequency
The letter was addressed to my own name, which I found to be a peculiar sort of vanity, as if I had written to myself in order to ensure I would read it. It lay on the desk in the station, a small, rectangular object of cream paper that seemed to absorb the gray light filtering through the high, arched windows. I had spent three years in this role, mapping the subsurface geology of the region,...
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