The Wistful Ashes
The clock on the wall ticked with the heavy, wet sound of a metronome dragging its foot through mud. I counted the seconds, then the minutes, then the pages. Fourteen hours left until the quarterly audit. Fourteen hours to digitize the Silent Ledger before the algorithm decided I was broken. My hands ached from the cold, a dull throb in the knuckles that matched the rhythm of the scanner. The...
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