The Wistful Petal
The rain streaks the high, barred windows of the Ministry of Cultural Continuity, blurring the gray city into a smear of wet charcoal, and you are standing in the center of Room 4B, clutching a manila folder that feels heavier than it should. Your contract expires in six weeks, a deadline that has turned into a physical ache in your chest, and all you want is the signature of Director Halloway...
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