The Wistful Petal
The ledger is missing. I sat down to check the final column for the solstice audit, and the book was not on the desk. It was not in the drawer. It was not under the chair. I stood up, and the glass of the window behind me did not move. For three years, the reflection in that pane has mimicked my every motion with a one-second delay, a lag so precise it felt like a courtesy, a delay that allowed...
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