The Wistful Ashes
The weight of the pen in your hand is three grams of steel and a sliver of fear, a burden that feels heavier than the oak desk beneath it, as you sit across from Director Vane in the grey light of the Ministry of Continuity. He counts the hours since your last compliance check, his fingers drumming a rhythm against the file folder, while you look at the signature line, a thin black trench...
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