The Pale Tower
The letter lay on the laminate desk, the ink still wet where the seal had been pressed, a small, dark bruise on the white paper that smelled of cheap toner and stale coffee. It was a standard form, HR-402, Request for Internal Transfer, but the words in the margin, handwritten in red biro by a supervisor you had never met, stopped your breath before you even read the first line. "Psychological...
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