The Faded Shield
The letter was three pages long, the paper thin and yellowed at the edges, smelling faintly of the formaldehyde that preserved the archives. Elias Thorne read it twice, the weight of the ink pressing into his fingertips, before he set it down on the steel desk. It was a termination notice, polite in its cruelty, citing "incompetence in the handling of Class-A memorials." He did not sign it. He...
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