OpheliaThe file didn’t feel like paper anymore.It felt alive.Like something breathing beneath her fingertips.Watching her.Waiting for her to finally understand what had been sitting in front of her this entire time.Ophelia stared at the pages spread across the metal table, her pulse slow but heavy, every beat pressing harder against her ribs as her eyes moved across black text, highlighted sections, classified markings, names she recognized, names she didn’t, and one word that refused to leave her head.Selected.Not recruited.Not discovered.Selected.Deliberate.Planned.Chosen long before she ever realized someone had been watching her.The overhead light buzzed softly above her, cold white against steel walls and gray floors, turning the room into something sterile and lifeless. But the file in front of her destroyed that illusion.Because nothing about this was sterile.Nothing about this was clean.This was years of manipulation folded neatly into paper.Her fingers tight
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