The Wistful Dinner
The memo lay on the desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry air of the archive. It was a standard personnel notice, typed in a font so thin it seemed to vanish against the white paper. Elara read it twice, her eyes tracing the lines that confirmed her tenure review would happen in six weeks. The smell of the room hit her before she looked up. It was the scent of old paper and cold dust, but...
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