The Faded Road
The frayed silk thread sat in your desk drawer like a guilty secret, a single, impossible strand of ivory lace that did not belong to you, nor to any of the other items in the archive, yet it was there, undeniable and damning. You had spent the last three months being watched, your every move scrutinized by Director Halloway, who had begun to view your meticulousness not as a virtue but as a...
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