The Pale Verdict
The letter smelled of stale coffee and institutional despair, a scent that clung to the fibers of the manila envelope like damp wool. You read it twice, the ink sharp and black against the cream paper, the words *unauthorized access* and *formal reprimand* standing out like bruises on skin. Three weeks. That was the window left before the board’s final audit, the narrow gap in which you had to...
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