The Faded Photograph
The letter was typed on cream-colored bond paper, the ink sharp and black against the pale fiber, and Clara Vane held it with a hand that trembled not from cold, but from the sheer, physical weight of the words *institutional oversight*. She stood in the narrow corridor of the Sterling Textile Mill, the air thick with the smell of machine oil and the low, rhythmic thrum of the looms that had...
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