The Distant Joke
The memo lay on the dashboard, the paper yellowed and brittle from the humidity, the ink bleeding slightly at the edges where Thorne’s thumb had pressed it too hard. It was a standard Form 114-C, a request for final clearance, but the signature line was blank, waiting for the ink to dry on a decision that hadn’t been made yet. Thorne read the line about "unresolved anomalies in the asset chain"...
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