The Distant Summer
The scent hit me first, a sharp, acrid wave of burnt sugar that cut through the stale air of the bullpen and settled into the back of my throat like a physical weight, forcing me to pause my pen mid-stroke on the journal page dated October 14, 2024, while the fluorescent lights hummed their indifferent, electric song above the rows of empty desks where the ghosts of the Bureau’s past still...
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