The Wistful Saga
The file was thin, lighter than the weight of the silence in the room, and you knew before you opened it that the pension was gone. "You’re a fool, Elias," Halloway said, not looking up from his paperwork. "A sentimental, obsolete fool." The air in his office smelled of stale tobacco and floor wax, a cloying, institutional scent that coated the back of your throat. You stood by the door, your...
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