The Pale Letter
The tremor in my left hand is a distinct, rhythmic spasm, like a wire pulled too tight. It began three days ago, after Director Halloway dismissed my brother, Thomas, for "insanity" and ordered the destruction of his file. I am Elias, thirty-two, a junior clerk in the sealed, windowless archive room on the fourth floor of the Meridian Trust building. The air here is stale, thick with the smell...
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