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For three days, the manila folder on my desk sat untouched, humming with a quiet dread I couldn’t quite name.
It looked like nothing more than a stack of papers held together by a thin metal clasp, but every time I passed by it, something deep inside me tightened. I told myself I needed space.
I told myself I was simply waiting for the right moment. But the truth, the real truth, was far more fragile—I was terrified of whatever waited…
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