The Faded Masquerade
The key turned with a resistance that felt less like friction and more like a refusal, the metal biting into Elias’s palm as he twisted the lock on the staff room door. "You are making a mistake, Elias," Martha said, her voice thin and dry as the paper dust that coated the desk. "They are not here to inspect. They are here to condemn." Elias did not look up from the ledger, his pen scratching a...
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