The Golden Myth
The letter sat on the wet desk, its ink blurring where the condensation from the windowpane had seeped through the paper, a small, damp ruin that Elias Thorne stared at until the words lost their shape. It was a reminder from the Municipal Board: your tenure review is in six months, and if the botanical archives are not fully cataloged and verified by then, your position will be terminated for...
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