The Pale Bonsai
The argument began with the sound of a heavy file folder slamming against the mahogany desk, a sharp crack that cut through the sterile, climate-controlled silence of the Director’s office. Dr. Elias Thorne, a man of forty years whose shoulders had begun to curve inward like the branches of the tree he sought, stood rigid before the desk, his face flushed with a fury that felt both righteous...
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