The Faded Frequency
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the paper damp and heavy with the smell of wet wool, and Marcel Thibault knew before he opened it that his tenure at the Lyon Broadcasting Station was over. He stood in the basement of the reclamation yard, where the air tasted of ozone and rusted copper, and watched the meltwater from the roof seep into the cellar floor, pooling around the base of the aging...
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