The Faded Quadrant
The stamp hit the paper with a dull, wet thud, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the hollow of Elias Thorne’s chest before it even reached his ears. He stared at the ink, a perfect black square sealing the fate of the department’s final budget allocation, and felt the tremor in his right hand, the one holding the pen, spike into a violent, uncontrollable shiver. The paper had slipped, or...
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