The Pale Bonsai
The fluorescent tube above the microfilm reader buzzed, a low, electric drone that seemed to vibrate in Elara’s molars. She adjusted the focus knob, the glass wheel clicking against her thumb, and stared at the grainy black-and-white frame of a 1982 intake form. The ink was fading, a common problem with the city’s pre-digital records, but this was different. In the margin, next to the name...
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