The Pale Fracture
The fracture on my left forearm had widened by a millimeter since the morning shift, a pale jagged line that pulsed with a faint, cold light as I sat at my terminal, the hum of the Ministry’s central cooling fans vibrating through the soles of my shoes. I was Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a mid-level archivist in the Department of Temporal Compliance, and my sole purpose in this sterile,...
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