The Pale Shadows
The pale shadow does not move with the light; it lingers, a detached smear of grey that pools on the carpet of your office like spilled ink, refusing to obey the geometry of the sun that streams through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the thirty-second floor. You are Elias, forty-two, an actuary whose life has been a quiet accumulation of risk assessments and actuarial tables, and your singular,...
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