The Faded Sutra
The letter lay on the desk, its paper yellowed and brittle as a dried leaf, bearing the seal of the Vane Mill Company in faded red ink. Elias Thorne picked it up, the grease from his thumb smudging the wax, and read the words that stripped him of his title, his hours, and his dignity all in a single, cold stroke. He was to report to the basement archive immediately, his duties reduced to...
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