The Faded Road
The notice pinned to the corkboard read: All personnel must report to the Office of State Affairs at dawn. No exceptions. Min-jun Park stood before the glass, watching his reflection distort in the warped surface. He was thirty-two, a junior clerk, and the hunger in his belly was a physical weight, heavier than the ledger he carried. The office smelled of damp paper and old ink, a scent that...
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