The Pale Verdict
The detention order lay on the desk, a single sheet of cream-colored paper that weighed less than a feather but felt heavier than the oak table beneath it. Elias signed it. His hand shook, a fine tremor that he had been hiding for three weeks by gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. The paper did not care about his age. It did not care that he was fifty-two, or that his...
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