The Pale Protocol
March 12 The pale wood has breached the floorboards in the east wing again, a fresh splinter of white oak jutting up through the parquet like a broken tooth, and I have spent the morning trying to ignore the way it mirrors the stagnation of my own tenure. I am thirty-two years old, a junior archivist at the Sterling Foundation, and I need this permanent position more than I need air, but the...
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