The Faded Apartment
The notice was three inches wide, printed on the heavy, cream-colored stock reserved for formal disciplinary actions, and it had been slipped under the door of Elias Thorne’s private locker while he was calibrating the humidity of the walk-in refrigerator. He read it twice, the paper trembling slightly in his hand, not from fear but from the sudden, cold weight of the words *procedural...
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