The Distant Legend
The deadline is Thursday. Thorne said that. He stood in the doorway of my office, arms crossed over his chest, blocking the light from the corridor. He didn’t look at me. He looked at the stack of boxes on my desk. The 1998 flood logs. Three years I had spent on them. Three years of scanning, indexing, cleaning the mold off the edges. He said the workflow was inefficient. He said the new hire,...
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