The Pale Echo
The letter lay on the table, the ink still wet, the seal cracked. You read it twice, the paper thin as onion skin, the words stark. "Reassignment pending review," it said. "Report to Ashwood Asylum immediately." You folded it, the crease sharp against your thumb, and looked at the window. The light was gray, the kind that suggests a day with no end. You were Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior...
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