The Faded Apartment
The ink on page forty-two of the *Ledger of Dissolutions* was wet. I wiped my thumb across the line, a habitual gesture born of fifteen years handling brittle, dry paper in the climate-controlled silence of the Federal Archive, but the black pigment smeared under my skin, cold and viscous as blood. I looked up, my heart hammering against the ribs of my suit jacket, and saw that the words I had...
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