The Wistful Witness
"You have the wrong file." The voice is sharp, clipped by the hum of the server racks that line the walls like silent, breathing monoliths. You stand in the center of the open-plan office, the air recycling the same stale scent of ozone and cold coffee. It is a time that does not exist on any calendar, a blur of fluorescent lights that never truly turn off. Your sister, Elias, stands behind the...
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