The Pale Fracture
The pen moved in a small, tight circle, scratching against the cheap paper. Elias stared at the line, waiting for the ink to dry. It was a request for a pension review. He had written it four times before, each draft more desperate than the last, the words shrinking as the fear of rejection grew. His palm itched. He rubbed it against his thigh, a dry, flaking spot where the skin had split and...
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