The Faded Masquerade
The envelope was thick, the paper heavy and cream-colored, smelling faintly of the cedar shavings used to line the evidence lockers. I sat at my desk in the precinct, the November cold seeping through the floorboards and into my bones, and held the seal in my thumb. It was a requisition form, signed by the town council, requesting the release of the "disturbance files" from October. I looked at...
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