The Pale Tower
The basement of the city hall smelled of dust and dried ink, a sterile scent that had seeped into the fibers of Elias’s coat over twenty years of service. He sat alone at a steel desk, the fluorescent lights humming a low, constant note that drilled into his temples, and stared at the box of rationing records in front of him. His pension depended on this task, on the quiet, invisible labor of...
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