The Pale Echo
The transfer form sat in your hands, the paper thin and brittle, smelling of the lavender sachets you kept in the top drawer to mask the damp. You were Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a senior inspector at the Blackwood Asylum, and you needed out before the annual audit in three days. The form was simple, a standard bureaucratic request for reassignment to the northern district, but it felt heavier...
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