The Wistful Petal
The paper smelled of stale coffee and machine oil, a scent that clung to the fibers like a disease. Elias held the notice in his hand, the edges already softening from the dampness of his grip. It was a municipal order, printed in bold, sans-serif type that offered no room for interpretation. *Property 402, Rowan Street: Classified as Hazardous Structure. Vacate Immediately.* He walked into the...
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