The Distant Crown
You need to sign this, Elias. The paper is thin, almost translucent, and the ink bleeds through to the back where the grain of the wood table shows through like a vein. I look at the document, a performance review for the Oakhaven Sector, and the words efficient and optimal stare up at me, cold and sterile. I am forty-two years old, and my knees ache with a damp, grinding pain that has nothing...
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