The Distant Whispers
You need to sign this before the elevator takes you down, Elias. The paper is cold against your palm, the ink still wet, smelling of the cheap toner they use in the administrative wing. I look at the signature line, then at Director Halloway, who stands behind the glass partition of his office, watching me with the calm, detached interest of a man observing a lab rat. I do not sign. I fold the...
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