The Wistful Ashes
The form was damp. Elias Thorne held the wet paper against the cold brick of the hallway wall, his thumb pressing the ink into the fibers to keep it from smearing. It was a standard Ministry requisition, Form 7-B, for the exemption of a minor from the Labor Draft. The paper felt gritty under his skin, slick with the condensation that perpetually wept from the walls of Sector Four. He checked...
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