The Wistful Petal
You stand in the lobby of the Municipal Records Building, a structure of gray concrete and stained glass that has looked the same since before you were born, perhaps since before the city itself had a name. The air smells of dust, old paper, and the faint, metallic tang of rain that has been trapped inside the vents for decades. You are holding the file. It is thin, a single folder of manila...
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