The Wistful Petal
Three hundred and twelve hours remain until your pension vests, a figure you have checked against the wall clock of the Bureau of Anomalous Records with the same grim precision you apply to cataloging the decay of temporal artifacts. You are Elias Thorne, Senior Archivist, forty-two years old, and your left ear has been humming with the frequency of a dying fluorescent tube for the last six...
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