The Faded River
The notice lay on the metal table, its edges curling slightly in the dry, recycled air of the holding cell. It was a simple form, typed in a font so small it seemed designed to be missed, detailing the immediate suspension of my service and the initiation of a board of inquiry. I picked it up. The paper was cold, thin as onion skin, and it carried the faint, chemical scent of the toner used in...
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