The Distant Whispers
The ledger showed a deficit of four hundred and twelve dollars, a number that sat on the page with the heavy, inert weight of a stone in my pocket, and I stared at it while my hands trembled over the cold mahogany of the conference table, not from fear of the men across from me, but from the sheer physical exhaustion of carrying that debt for six years. Dr. Aris sat in the corner, his posture...
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