The Distant Wound
The intercom crackled with a static that sounded like grinding teeth, and then the voice of Director Vane, flat and devoid of any inflection, called out my name, "Ashworth," as if summoning a dog to heel. I did not look up from the filing cabinet, my fingers buried in the cold, dry paper of the Q3 demographic adjustments, but the weight of the silence in the room shifted, becoming heavier,...
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