The Faded Ruin
Six months. That was the number on the form. Elias Thorne stared at the ink, dry and black on the cheap paper, counting the days until his pension kicked in. He rubbed the heel of his palm against the desk, feeling the grit of dust that never seemed to settle in Sector 4. The air here tasted of ozone and old metal. It was a strange sector, the Bureau’s algorithm had flagged it for years....
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