The Faded Alibi
The summons was a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper, the kind that feels expensive under the fingertips, smelling faintly of dust and old ink. It sat on the desk, next to the cold coffee and the stack of incident reports, waiting for you to sign the line that would end your career. You did not sign it. You stared at the date, three days from now, when the tribunal would decide if Elias...
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