The Distant Wound
Mildred Garrow’s fingers, stained with the faint, rust-colored residue of the archival toner, hovered over the final page of the 1998 Water Crisis file, her breath held in a tight, cold knot in her chest as the fluorescent lights of the Bureau of Civic Memory hummed their monotonous, dying drone. She was forty-two, a mid-level archivist whose life had calcified into a routine of sorting,...
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