The Pale Bonsai
The transfer order sat on the dashboard, the paper yellowed by the sun, the ink smudged where Miller’s thumb had rested. It was a simple thing, a rectangle of authority that cost nothing but stripped you of everything. You read it again, the words blurring as the heat in the cab rose, a dry, stifling wave that made the air taste of dust and old rubber. You were Elias, thirty-two, a border...
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