The Faded Road
The memo was printed on heavy, cream-colored stock, the kind the department reserved for notices that no one wanted to read. Elias Thorne held it up to the window of his office, a cramped box of glass and dust at the end of the Meridian Estate’s administrative wing, and watched the ink bleed slightly in the damp air. The document confirmed his retirement date: three months from today. It was a...
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